


when it comes to art, it's important not to hide the madness

by komkommertijd



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dancing, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Musicals, Musicians, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Singing, Slow Burn, Social Media, Texting, Theatre Kids, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komkommertijd/pseuds/komkommertijd
Summary: coincidence /kəʊˈɪnsɪd(ə)ns/nouna remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection.orthe uni/texting/coffee shop au no one asked for but i wrote it anyway.shenanigans (may) occur.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell, Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Fabio Quartararo/Maverick Viñales, Marcus Ericsson/Antonio Giovinazzi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 50
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **nick:** i want to die
> 
>  **milkman:** mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after 10 days of travelling the country and overthinking my life, i am finally back with a new fic and a lot of wack ideas to bestow upon you - and it's yet another uni/coffee shop fusion for which i can only apologize.
> 
> anyway, this is partly self-indulgent, partly comic-relief and partly ... well, i think you'll see in a while, plus a shit ton of cameos and other things no one asked for. i am a mess, please bear with me.
> 
> the next two chapters are mostly done and have to undergo some more editing before i can yeet them into the void, so this one's an appetizer to see how things go and whether or not people actually enjoy this. i will have to see how much junior year destroys me but i will try to find a balance that allows me to write and not fuck up my grades simultaneously once the school year begins tomorrow. i'll try to finish it before christmas, folks (or before the new year, i have no faith in myself though)
> 
> i haven't been bboying/bgirling (breakdancing... is there a gender neutral term by now?) actively for the past few years, which is a shame really, the last time i was part of a drama club was 5 years ago, and i have never actually produced any music, so i do apologize to everyone who actively pursues any of those things and notices inaccuracies. i have never actually set foot in a uni either (greetings to the uoft campus and ryerson though), it still kinda works, i guess.
> 
> this is an entirely fictional work, none of the characters belong to me nor do i know what actually goes on in their heads. if you personally know any of the people mentioned or can't see the difference between reality and fiction, please do not read this work.
> 
> english is not my first language and i unfortunately can't catch all mistakes, thank you for tolerating that. not betaed, we die like the legends we are. 
> 
> i will finally stop pestering you now, i am deeply sorry for my notes being longer than the actual chapters. have fun reading this one, i hope you'll enjoy it. thank you for clicking on this in the first place, i love you for that.
> 
> enjoy :)
> 
> (title by atticus)

It is already 9 pm on a Sunday when Daniel stumbles across the blog. He's mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr, one leg draped over the backrest of the couch and his hair sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower he just took ten minutes ago. It's not the most healthy or comfortable position to lay down in, but Daniel figures that he really doesn't care as long as he gets to avoid his unfinished project for as long as possible.

Michael is in the kitchen, in charge of making dinner as per usual. Daniel would probably starve without a roommate to feed him, lacking the skill and the motivation to actually stand in front of the stove for thirty minutes minimum each day. It's not like Michael cooks for him daily, but they somehow manage to keep themselves afloat with takeout food, rice, and some vegetables if they're being fancy and able to afford it. The smell of broccoli spreads through the dorm and the even sizzling of the pan calms Daniel's nerves. He's positively exhausted after Michael dragged him to the gym for an hour and the fading daylight makes him feel cozy, and so he continues scrolling, occasionally reblogging a gifset or something that deserves more attention in his humble opinion.

He stops the continuous swiping when a poem appears on his phone screen, reblogged by one of his mutuals with actual taste, and it's such a simple short text, written in italic letters, and yet it's better than most things he's come across lately. Not only that, but the last line feels like literal enlightenment, and Daniel, who didn't feel like moving a single muscle for the rest of the night, scrambles off the couch with a noise that concerns his roommate for three seconds and then he disappears into his bedroom, almost tripping over the bag containing the sweaty gym clothes he should definitely wash soon before Michael beats his ass for being lazy and making their apartment smell bad. He avoids faceplanting though and shoves a few things around on his desk, as far as he can push everything away without it falling off, and underneath all that mess lies the thing he's been dreading to touch for days. A black notebook, pages worn and stained with rubber lines and highlighter, fingerprints visible where Daniel touched the paper after writing for too long. He finds his favorite pencil and unlocks his phone to look at the poem again.

Daniel only puts the pencil back down when Michael calls him for the second time and the page is finally filled with words where an empty white void turned his insides upside down every time he looked at it before. He remembers to reblog his inspiration before Michael snatches the phone from his hands and puts it next to the stove, too far away for Daniel to get it back without leaving the chair next to the window that they always fight about. Michael shrugs his shoulders, Daniel rolls his eyes and avoids the challenge for the sake of keeping his seat. Dinner is as uneventful as usual after that and he gets the last broccoli pieces in exchange for his promise to do the dishes, which takes approximately ten minutes and doesn't hurt his ego even half as much as he always pretends.

After going through a loop of switching between the same three apps, Daniel ends up on his own Tumblr blog and throws the notebook on his desk a guilty look. He can still hear Michael rummaging around in the bathroom, figures that it'll take a while before he gets to brush his teeth, not that he's keen to spend three minutes of his life staring at himself in the mirror while performing the most repetitive and boring task known to humanity. He sighs and shakes his head, looks back down at his phone, and stares at his latest activity. The poem is still there, and Michael is still in the bathroom, and Daniel hesitates another second before he clicks on the URL of the original creator and waits for the app to redirect him.

The blog that appears on the screen now is neater than his own by far, the owner of it even made the effort to use a consistent tagging system, and it's mostly original work and reblogs of other literary work, nothing Daniel usual pays more attention to than needed, but he's been stuck in a hole lately, without motivation and creativity, and he still has to finish a composition for class, he hasn't dared to even open the file, and the lyrics in his notebook sadly haven't been writing themselves, and a few inspirational texts at least help to kick his butt once in a while. The poems and prose are good, too, so unlike his usual source of inspiration and yet all the more interesting, so he keeps reading and scrolling, reblogging things here and there, taking notes on his phone whenever a new idea pops up in his head, and when he looks at the clock the next time, it's already past midnight. His eyes hurt when he blinks in confusion. He feels like he's actually got some stuff done now, without actually doing any work, and brushing his teeth is a lot easier than anticipated.

His finger hovers above the button for a while but he's too tired to overthink his actions, so he clicks the follow button and puts his phone down, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Silver light filters through the blinds and dances through the room, the noise of drunk students underneath his window reaches his ears and hardly concerns him. He shifts around until his head rests on his arm and his shirt sticks to his skin in a slightly less uncomfortable way and he closes his eyes, content, and more at ease than the nights prior. Except he can't sleep because there's still one task not done, one thing he considered doing but stopped himself from, and he gives in and reaches for his phone once more.

**[01:36]**

**headfullofscreams:** Hey, I guess you get messages like this all the time, but your blog is amazing! The things you write are really good, I coincidentally found your blog earlier and one of your poems inspired me to finish a project I've been struggling with for a while. Keep up the good work!

* * *

Lando looks ready to murder Max when he comes running into the kitchen with his phone clutched in his hand and a smile too enthusiastic for that time of the day on his face. He puts down his cappuccino mug, yawns, runs one hand through his dark curls, and blinks slowly at his roommate, who looks ready to vibrate through the wall, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He's never seen Max that awake on a Monday morning at 7 am before.

“Okay, spit it out, what's going on?”

“Someone likes my work! You know, the stuff I post on Tumblr, look!” And he's shoving his way too bright phone screen into Lando's face before he can even say anything about it, not accepting any complaints, with the message he's received last night open for his roommate to read. Lando scrunches his nose and slaps Max's arm away, far enough away for him to actually read the message at least, and when he's done he turns back to his mug and rubs his eyes, unimpressed by it all. Max drops the phone on the table with a sigh and abandons it to pick out his breakfast of choice, which ends up being cornflakes with milk, as on every other morning. They don't have much else to choose from anyway.

“I've been telling you that daily for the past year, mate.”

“Yeah, but you're my friend and roommate, you have to say that so I won't kick you out. That's someone I don't know, it's a different kind of validation, you know?”

Lando grumbles something incomprehensible behind his mug and Max swallows down the first spoon of cornflakes while he stares at the message and tries to come up with a reply that isn't too cringy and weird, something that won't scare the other user away. Max isn't exactly good at making friends and he doesn't really need many of them but it would be nice to talk to someone who's interested in hearing about Max's thoughts and his work for once, someone who doesn't automatically ask for his video game rankings when Lando introduces him. 

Even now in university, most of his friends hang out with him because of other mutual friends, which is Lando in most of the cases, and it's not like he doesn't try, he's just really bad at making new friends and talking to strangers, people who will judge him based on tangled words, a wrong giggle and comments that are only funny to him and no one else.

He judges people too, of course, he does, but not in a way that inevitably hurts them and makes them lay awake at night overthinking every word and coming up with better replies for imperfect conversations. Max meets everyone with respect and impartiality, he's learned to treat others the way he would have wanted to be treated growing up. He sighs quietly and hits send, what could go wrong?

**[07:18]**

**hrhp-mev:** I actually don't get that many messages on here but I'm super glad to hear that you enjoy the stuff my brain produces! I'm honored to have helped you with your project too, finding a source of inspiration is a big deal as a creator, I know what that feels like. Anyway, thank you for the kind words :)

His phone buzzes with an incoming reply just when he steps into the school building and Max barely dodges the door before it can slam into his face.

**[07:57]**

**headfullofscreams:** I don't get why you don't, your work is amazing! And I'm not even into literature haha

* * *

Antonio is busy chewing on his pencil when Daniel finally gets the coffee machine to work, and Esteban glares at his friend from behind the screen of his laptop as he whoops triumphantly to the noise of hot water running through the filter. Daniel rolls his eyes, apparently fun is not legal in his own apartment anymore, and picks out some clean mugs to make coffee for his guests. After figuring his lyric issues out the night prior, he asked the only two other music majors he knows to come over and work on their shared project. It's weird that he doesn't know more people, he's not the most antisocial person and he literally goes to an art focussed school, but Esteban and Antonio know how to get work done and it's a lot easier to entertain a smaller group, and he has enough mugs for them all that way, so he appreciates their help and carefully places the coffee in front of them on the kitchen table.

“I like this part, it's what you wrote last night, right?” Antonio asks after taking a sip from his mug and he occupies the window seat but Daniel doesn't complain just this once, the feud is only for him and Michael to fight. Daniel nods and sits down next to him instead, scoots a little closer to see where Antonio is pointing while they go over the current ideas together, the things he thinks demand change, and Esteban chimes in here and there to suggest melodic changes. Daniel opens the file on his own laptop and looks at the unfinished harmonies and spots where a baseline is definitely missing, and he really wants to just toss the laptop into a corner and crawl into bed to sleep for a week straight instead of fixing his own mistakes, but Esteban joins the file and helps him with the composition.

Antonio sings the samples for them, scribbles a few things into the lyrics, and laughs when Daniel sings what he imagines for the melody to go like and his voice cracks at a particularly high note. Esteban grins behind the screen and shakes his head but when Daniel sits back down to look at his project file, he's already changed that certain part for him. They work some more until Daniel makes his last adjustment before leaning back on the kitchen chair, stretching his arms and rolling his stiff shoulders, keeping the chair in perfect balance – Michael accidentally found out how far one could lean back without falling over a few months ago. He smiles, happy with the final result, and clicks play, the three of them listening close to the composition, to Esteban's baseline and Antonio's singing. It's not perfect yet and Antonio definitely needs to sing the entire thing properly in the studio again, but it's good and a solid base, something they can actually work with, and Daniel is very relieved to have one sorrow less to keep him up at night for the next few days.

Michael returns just when the others leave their apartment, with his red backpack slung across one shoulder and a tired smile on his face. Daniel closes the door behind him, bopping up and down on his feet in excitement like he always does when he has good work to show off. Michael doesn't study music but he's got taste and knows how to dance, so Daniel usually asks him for his opinion on his latest compositions, and today is not an exception. Michael is tired from his classes and Daniel doesn't want to be a shitty roommate for once though, so he doesn't bother him until after dinner, when they're sitting in the kitchen with their homework strewn across the table, after working in comfortable silence for a while.

“When are you going to show me your song?” kicks Daniel into motion, getting the hint that Michael's brain is in desperate need for a break from whatever he has been scribbling into his notebook for the past hour and a half, and he himself isn't very into his music history practice questions either, so he jumps up from his seat with a force that almost makes the chair fall over, and he hurries to retrieve his laptop from where he's left it on his bed, avoiding the furniture and walls in his way, if only barely, and placing it carefully on top of the paper, not caring about crumbling any of it. Michael is too tired to complain anyway.

He clicks play once he finds the file on his desktop and shifts on the edge of his seat, watching Michael closely as he listens to the first few beats. He can't really read his expression, but he smiles when he recognizes Antonio's voice, and he slightly moves his head to the rhythm of the song, so Daniel thinks it can't be too bad. Michael smiles at him when the song ends and gently punches Daniel's shoulder.

“Mate, it turned out good, stop worrying. The beat's good to dance to and I like the lyrics, they go well with the melody. Don't look at me like that, you know I have no fucking clue how this stuff works. It's good, now shut up and finish your homework.”

He gets to use the bathroom first that evening and when he looks into the mirror, he can't help but smile. It's been a long day, but he's satisfied with his work, he's gotten so much more stuff done than he thought he would, and the encouragement of his friends is just what he needs to stop judging himself. He mutters a quiet good night at Michael in the hallway and puts a few things for his classes into his backpack before he charges his laptop and crawls into bed. His back hurts but it's the good kind of pain, the kind that means that he's done stuff that day, and his mattress hasn't felt this heavenly in weeks. When he looks at his phone for the first time in hours, there are quite a few unread messages, but there's one notification he pays more attention to than the others.

**[09:32]**

**hrhp-mev:** What kind of project is it that you're working on then if it's not for literary purposes, if I may ask?

**[22:47]**

**headfullofscreams:** I'm composing a new song but writing the lyrics is a hard thing for me to do, so I look at some poems once in a while to find motivation, not that it always works, but your work is really good inspiration

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm sorry for not responding earlier, I was working on the project all afternoon haha

 **hrhp-mev:** It's fine! I was still doing some homework, I wasn't available either

 **hrhp-mev:** But that's so cool, I don't think I could ever produce my own music!

 **headfullofscreams:** Homework? Oh God, how old are you?

 **headfullofscreams:** I've always been into music and dancing, I wrote my first own song in high school and taught myself how to produce music when I got my own laptop, I guess anyone can do it once they figure it out tbh

 **hrhp-mev:** I'm in university, I didn't mean to freak you out haha

 **hrhp-mev:** Do you play any instruments? Maybe that makes it easier...

 **headfullofscreams:** Nowadays I mostly play the drums in my uni band but I know how to play the guitar and the piano, that definitely helps when I compose music without all the tech. It's nice to write some sheet music once in a while and all my lyrics are handwritten, to avoid distractions

 **headfullofscreams:** I don't know why I'm telling you all this, sorry if it's overwhelming (please tell me to shut up if it's too much, I'm used to people doing that haha)

 **hrhp-mev:** That's impressive! I can barely play the Kazoo tbh

 **hrhp-mev:** And don't worry, it's nice to have someone to talk to for once, I appreciate the rambling :)

 **headfullofscreams:** I swear my roommate will kill me one day if I keep talking that much so thank you for listening hahaha

 **headfullofscreams:** I don't know how late it is for you but it's like 11 pm here, I should probably sleep soon...

 **hrhp-mev:** It's the same here, I still have to work on my assignment though

 **headfullofscreams:** Can't you finish it tomorrow? You should sleep

 **hrhp-mev:** I will once I'm done, don't worry too much about me

 **headfullofscreams:** Let me worry man, I have to look out for my favorite writer

 **hrhp-mev:** Good night, go to sleep before I die blushing over here

 **headfullofscreams:** No dying while I'm away! Good luck with the assignment <3

* * *

**kid next door [8:07]:** i'm fucked

 **mike [8:11]:** where tf are u?

 **kid next door [8:11]:** i might've accidentally overslept a little bit

 **kid next door [8:12]:** i literally just woke up, i need at least 20 min to class

 **mike [8:12]:** lando norris ur an idiot, go to sleep earlier next time

 **kid next door [8:13]:** michael i do not want to hear that

 **kid next door [8:13]:** i fucking hate you

 **mike [8:17]:** k bye

 **kid next door [8:19]:** no

 **kid next door [8:19]:** come back

 **kid next door [8:20]:** i need your notes, i won't make it to sm

 **kid next door [8:20]:** i love you michael

 **kid next door [8:20]:** i'll pay for your lunch next week

 **kid next door [8:20]:** please help me

 **mike [8:26]:** i will give u my notes if u shut up now

 **mike [8:26]:** and for the love of god, don't call our major sm or i will choke u

_mike sent a picture_

_mike sent a picture_

_mike sent a picture_

**mike [10:17]:** lunch next tuesday, i demand pizza

 **kid next door [10:18]:** ugh fine

 **mike [10:20]:** <3

* * *

It's 5 pm when Daniel enters the dance studio and drops his belongings in his usual corner, yet another black bag on the floor. The room is pretty much empty still and Pierre greets him with a smile from where he's setting up the music, dressed in a blue shirt and grey sweatpants. The speaker makes a noise of affirmation when the phone connects and Pierre selects the playlist Lewis set up, or so Daniel thinks based on the well-known song that floats through the room now. He digs his water bottle out of his bag and puts it on the floor next to his phone before he joins Pierre to stretch.

It takes a while until the others pour in, with Fabio being the last to arrive, which isn't exactly new to any of the others. He nods through Lewis's usual scolding before he joins the warmup, taking his place between Daniel and Nyck, and after the mandatory 30 minutes are over, they scatter away to practice, either alone or in smaller groups. Daniel still has to go through one of the choreos for dance class before he forgets the steps, so he plugs in his earphones to go through the song they have to learn the choreography to, and focusses on that for the next 15 minutes until muscle memory and his head finally work together and it comes to him more easily.

Dancing has proven to be the most useful thing to do to take his mind off things, and Daniel really needs a break from the mess in his head every once in a while. Especially now in university, when assignments and adulting pile up, it's relaxing to give himself an escape, and he's always been rather active, unable to sit still for long, drumming rhythms on tables and tapping with his feet underneath them on every occasion, so much that his sister was probably close to killing him at least once during family gatherings. He's always been into music and rhythms, so if one ignores all the hardships university and social interactions bestow upon him, he's pretty much living his dream.

Michael bullies him into practicing battle rocks with him, which means that his thighs will definitely kill him tomorrow, and in the ever-flowing rhythm of one, two, three, four, step, moving his hips, moving back, going down and repeating it all, it's almost freeing to strain his body until his shirt sticks to his back with sweat and Michael collapses to the floor with laughter at the silly moves he throws into the motion. Dancing is first and foremost still one thing: fun. And with Fabio's wild gesturing, Charles's snarky remarks and Pierre's stupid explanations, Daniel's stomach usually hurts more with laughter than the burn of working too hard for too long.

“How are the preparations for the play going, by the way?” Daniel asks Fabio as they pack up their belongings an hour later. Talking to him is the easiest way to learn all about the drama club gossip and other irrelevant news, which is usually quite entertaining, and one of Daniel's favorite activities in the field of stuff that doesn't concern him. With his own contribution to the musical at the end of the school year becoming part of his final grade though, it becomes all the more useful to have some insiders who can tell him about the overall process of the project.

“Pretty well, honestly. Some people from the drama department are working with the English majors to write the scripts, and Esteban will help me with the casting, so we're making progress.”

“When will you be able to send me the finished script though? I need to start working on the arrangements before exam season kills me and I don't even know how many of the songs I have to do.”

Fabio picks up his backpack and turns his attention away from Daniel shortly to focus on his phone instead, a small smile appearing on his face while his fingers fly across the screen. Once he's hit send, he looks back up at Daniel and shrugs.

“Don't forget to stretch,” Lewis scolds them when Fabio tries to sneak out and casually drags Daniel with him, both of them stopping with a sigh and dropping their bags by the door before they sit back down and stretch their muscles. Of course, Lewis is right, they'll feel sore as hell the next morning if they don't stretch, but it's just boring and so much annoying extra work and they're both too lazy and comfortable to make their legs burn even more.

“I don't know yet, but we're almost done. One of the writer kids spent half of last night rewriting scenes and editing,” Fabio offers a proper reply, while Daniel spreads his legs and leans over to the left side to grab his foot, humming thoughtfully and switching sides once the pain gets just that tad bit too much.

“Will you cast yourself, by the way?”

“Yeah, but no lead roles this time. Dancing and acting are fine but no one will get me to sing again. Besides, I just know that someone will snitch to Professor Grosjean and say that the casting directors are preserving the best roles for themselves. It's also why I chose Esteban to help me, he can't dance for shit.”

Daniel laughs at that and stretches his arms, gently bopping his head from the left to the right after, and Fabio lays down on his back to stretch his thighs properly. He sighs, not because of the pain, but because he's a dramatic idiot and also exhausted from all the sleepless nights spent organizing things, coordinating other students, and sending their Performance Acting professor tons of emails regarding the play. Daniel admires how he does it all though, especially after seeing Fabio struggle through his first year of university. Compared to that, he's really found his place now as a valued member of the drama club and one of Professor Grosjean's favorite Acting majors and, of course, in the dance club, which isn't really a club but Lewis always loves to pretend that it is, and they get enough program slots for stages to be taken seriously.

“I'm probably just playing some kind of instrument, we might terrorize the orchestra nerds enough to let the band play some songs. Besides, I get to arrange that stuff, so I might as well throw us in there somewhere.”

“Has Lewis said anything about program slots for spring stage, by the way? I really don't want to perform with Nico again for him to get all the attention,” Fabio asks when they're both getting up again, running a hand through his hair, and once again fumbling with his phone as they leave the studio. Daniel takes a sip of his water to clear up his thoughts and struggles to put the bottle back into his bag. He succeeds at some point, Fabio is still staring at his phone.

“Nah, I think he'll text the group once he knows.”

Fabio just nods and types another message. God, Daniel hates people in relationships and their constant need to inform their partner about every breath they take but it's Fabio, and Fabio can be very cute yet sickening about his relationship, so Daniel is glad if texting is all he does. They eventually say their goodbyes as their ways part and the evening sun shines just right when Daniel walks down the street, across campus, and past the building he knows so well by now on his way to his dorm.

* * *

_the bois™_

[19:38]

 **nick:** i want to die

 **milkman:** mood

 **milkman:** why tho

 **nick:** i'm gonna fail french again :)))

 **sad gay:** sucks to be you huh

 **alex:** can you not get tutoring or something?

 **nick:** i'm not gonna ask pierre/esteban this time

 **nick:** if i wanted humiliation i'd hang out with george again

 **prince charming:** it's not my fault you're a coward

 **nick:** i will literally kill you and then myself

 **nick:** but i'm never going to the gym with you ever again

 **prince charming:** cmon it wasn't that bad

 **nick:** IT'S A G Y M NOT A STRIP CLUB

 **prince charming:** you're never gonna let me live that down, are you

 **alex:** you could go with max instead? he's too insecure to take his shirt off lol

 **sad gay:** i just know how to behave in public stfu

 **sad gay:** besides, i go to the gym at night to enjoy some peace and quiet, please leave me alone

 **nick:** i have no time for working out if i have to revise the fucking subjonctif or whatever anyway

 **milkman:** f

[20:04]

 **lancelot:** i could help you with french if you're really that desperate, we're in the same class and i'll be content with a coffee once a month for payment tbh

 **nick:** you're literally the best

 **nick:** everyone else go home, lance is the only valid friend here

 **prince charming:** the betrayal

 **lancelot:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

Max doesn't exactly hate all forms of human contact, but if he can avoid crowded places he always takes the chance. It's much quieter at the gym after 8 pm, with the evening buzz dying out and most students returning home to eat dinner or get the work they procrastinated on done, and Max really enjoys those peaceful nights when he can work out even without music, just to let his mind wander and get his thoughts off school for once. It's just the right kind of balance with all the assignments and his own creativity weighing him down, and he might not look like the stereotypical guy to hit the gym, but a bit of sport has never been harmful.

He spends most of this evening with boxing, taking out the pent-up frustration, and getting himself into an even rhythm. So far he's alone, no other students bothering him, and even if anyone was to join him, he probably wouldn't notice with all his attention focussed on the punching bag in front of him. Sweat forms on his forehead and his breath comes out in shorter, still even puffs, and it's just so good, the resistance of the punching bag, the strain in his muscles, the strength he channels into every punch.

He only stops when it becomes too much, when he feels his own energy fading, powered out from the continuous work. Max almost jumps in surprise when he notices that he's not alone anymore but plays it off smoothly, taking off his boxing gloves and undoing the bandages, putting it back into his bag when it's neatly put together, and he takes out his phone and drinks some water to calm himself down. He keeps his eyes on the time, putting the phone back and dropping his bottle back on the floor dutifully when his break is over before he returns to his workout.

It's not like he's not used to other people using the gym around this time of the day, but they're usually not as distracting as this particular student. Max has never seen him at the gym before, maybe he normally comes here during the day like a sane person, and it's truly a shame because Max just can't stop looking at him. It's embarrassing, really, so Max forces himself to do some cardio to torture himself, something that will definitely pull his attention away from the handsome stranger on the weight training bench. God, he's hot, and Max is pathetic.

Alex was probably right when he changed his display name in the group chat.

* * *

**maximus [21:48]:** LANDO

 **maximus [21:48]:** HELP

 **roomie [21:51]:** you never use capslock, tf happened?

 **maximus [21:51]:** i'm at the gym rn

 **maximus [21:51]:** and there's this really hot guy

 **maximus [21:51]:** whom i've never seen around before

 **roomie [21:52]:** first of all, rip

 **roomie [21:52]:** second of all, i need details

 **roomie [21:53]:** and proof

 **maximus [21:54]:** mate we're literally alone, he'll notice if i take a pic you asshat

 **roomie [21:54]:** damn, no need to flatter me

 **roomie [21:55]:** DETAILS THO

 **maximus [21:56]:** i'm losing it over here bear with me x

 **roomie [21:56]:** stop being horny and tell me more

 **roomie [21:56]:** on a scale from 0 to zac efron, how hot is he?

 **maximus [21:56]:** really, zac efron? definitely hotter

 **maximus [21:57]:** i can't elaborate though, my 10 min break is almost over

 **maximus [21:57]:** i'll tell you later, there's A LOT to thirst about

 **roomie [21:58]:** i hate you so much omg

* * *

**mikeymoo [22:05]:** why are you not home? it's tuesday night, you're always home on tuesdays

 **mikeymoo [22:06]:** if you're partying without me i'll end you

 **mikeymoo [22:06]:** seriously tho, i'm kinda worried

 **mikeymoo [22:11]:** if you get yourself killed i'm not taking responsibility

 **mikeymoo [22:32]:** ???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading the first chapter to the end, this one means a lot to me. i still really hope that it was somehow enjoyable. 
> 
> the usernames are hopefully not too hard to match to the right characters - we're going with the format of names they saved each other under for one on one chats, universal display names for the group chats, and the usual tumblr format of usernames. what's the meaning behind the tumblr names though? :)
> 
> kudos, comments, and all kind of other feedback is always very much appreciated and makes me genuinely happy
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) if you want to hear more about this fic and other mindless yelling
> 
> see you soon! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **satan:** can we talk about how pierre got to keep his username tho
> 
>  **satan:** not fair
> 
> _lewis changed “pierre” to “lew's favorite”_
> 
> **lew's favorite:** <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first week of school has been hectic but we're thriving lads! not really lmao but what can one do but get their hopes crushed? two more weeks until our exam calendar comes out though, so i'll work on this fic as much as possible before that so we'll get somewhere soon!
> 
> with this chapter not so much i guess, though it's time to dive a bit more into dan's history and introduce some more characters and their relationships a bit more thoroughly. it's ... a ride one may say. i still have to improve my writing when it comes to dancing but i'm working on it and i hope you can deal with it for the time being :)
> 
> there's not much else to say, for now, i just wish you all a lot of fun with this chapter and i hope you'll enjoy it!

Daniel doesn't go to the gym this late usually, but after getting caught up in another unfinished assignment that demanded attention before the deadline, he didn't have much of a choice. He didn't really plan on going after their rather intense training in the afternoon but judging by how poorly he did with handstands and the like compared to Fabio and Nyck, he definitely needs to gain some of his upper body strength back. Which is how he ends up in the campus gym at 9:30 pm on a Tuesday, a day which is usually spent moping on the couch. It's good to get back into the familiar environment, even if it's only been two days since his last visit, and without all the people around, he's way calmer and collected.

Usually, he'd go with Michael, who never failed to drag him along even in his worst days, but after his roommate decided to work out in the morning rather than after class, he's been left to drag himself. It takes a lot of willpower sometimes but he's not suicidal enough to get up at 4:30 am to accompany Michael, so it's the only other option. Sometimes they still go together, like they did the past weekend, and Michael makes sure to bully Daniel into going to the gym more regularly. It works out and so does Daniel.

There's only one other guy in the main room when Daniel arrives, and he's so lost in his workout that he doesn't even notice him, which is a shame, really. He's never seen that student around before, not on campus either, he's sure he would recognize him if he did. Daniel doesn't forget handsome strangers, especially because he spends a lot of time with crushing on random people he sees around campus and annoying the hell out of Michael, who tries to encourage him to just go up to people and talk to them every single time and gets depressed whining in return. He isn't shy at all normally but he's bad at talking to people he's interested in on campus, during the day, with too many people around who could possibly witness him getting rejected. It's easier in clubs and bars, when everyone around him is too drunk to care, when a headache the following morning saves him the embarrassment.

He's not watching deliberately but the stranger is just in his field of view when he fumbles around at the weight training bench, and Daniel is but a sad horny victim of university-induced abstinence and the unknown student looks hot in a way that surely can't be legal. Daniel can't help himself but watch his movements, how his muscles shift with every punch, and the almost scaring determination in his eyes, a single strand of hair peeking out underneath his snapback, and Daniel hates himself when he swallows hard before finally turning his gaze away to do what he actually came here for.

If he benches just 20 kg more than he usually would on an evening destined for lighter work and going easy on himself like this one, no one needs to know.

* * *

**the annoying one [22:48]:** don't piss your pants i'm almost home

 **the annoying one [22:48]:** i'm omw back from the gym

 **mikeymoo [22:49]:** you never go to the gym voluntarily, why now in the middle of the night

 **the annoying one [22:50]:** that is not true and you know it

 **the annoying one [22:50]:** stop being dramatic, you should be proud of me instead

 **mikeymoo [22:53]:** have you eaten dinner tho

 **mikeymoo [22:58]:** daniel????

 **mikeymoo [23:03]:** leftovers are in the fridge, i'm too tired for your bullshit

 **the annoying one [23:06]:** you're an angel bro x

 **mikeymoo [23:07]:** don't wake me up when you get home or i'll slam your head through the wall

 **the annoying one [23:12]:** ❤

* * *

_lekkerdingen_

[6:58]

 **nyck:** MAX EMILIAN

 **nyck:** WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US ABOUT YOUR CRUSH

 **max:** 1\. why tf are you awake 2. lando is such a snitch istg 3. he's not my crush i've literally seen him once

 **nyck:** i have an 8 am and contrary to popular belief i do get up on time fuck you

 **nyck:** do you know what a crush is??? anyway TELL US

[7:22]

 **max:** not to be horny but like actually

 **max:** he's hot

 **max:** and not nico's level of hotness but a real 10/10 at least

 **nico:** why is this the first thing i see when i get up, i hate you all

 **nico:** but please enlighten us :)

 **nyck:** max get your stupid english major brain working and share your thirst with the group

 **nyck:** before stoff shows up and slaughters us all for inappropriate behavior or some shit

 **max:** okay i don't want to exaggerate

 **max:** but that guy is literally a dream

 **nyck:** what kind of dream tho

 **max:** NYCK STOP

 **max:** anyway i was at the gym last night as usual and i didn't notice him coming in

 **max:** but oh boy i almost choked on my saliva

 **max:** he benched like 80 kg??? and i was literally about to lose it ngl those ARMS

 **nyck:** damn he could probably pick you up like it's nothing huh

 **max:** don't give me ideas oh god

 **nico:** i never thought that max would be the dirty-minded here lmao

 **nyck:** says you

[8:13]

 **stoff:** you're all going to hell i hope you know that

* * *

Wednesday afternoons are, for some unexplainable reason, the slowest of the week. Lando leans on the counter with his drying towel on his shoulder, yawning when he's sure that no one sees it, and his fingers itch with the need to pull out his phone and entertain himself, probably by annoying Max or asking him about his new crush, which he, of course, vehemently denies as such. The coffee shop is mostly empty, only a few tables occupied by students working on assignments and other tasks, a couple on a date that makes Lando want to vomit every time he accidentally looks over at them, this much PDA should not be allowed in public, and an elderly woman that swings by every week and gushes over Lando whenever she can.

It's the quiet before the storm, also known as dinner rush, and Lando should enjoy the peace and use it to clean up and refill the water tanks of the coffee machines but all he's done so far is wiping down the counter and putting some dishes back in place. He's going to be alone for another hour at least until someone will join him to survive dinner, and only after that is over, he's allowed to leave. He prays that whoever has the evening shift is gracious enough to clean up and relief Lando of that task because it's the one thing he despises even more than doing the dishes and he won't die if he has to do it but he likes to pretend that it's the case.

Lando jumps when the door opens, warm spring air streaming inside with the noise of traffic and the outside world accompanying it, but he puts on his customer-friendly smile once he recovers and even gets rid of the drying towel before taking the order. When he first started working there, no one trusted him around the coffee machines and usually told him to take care of the order lane, but after a year of learning and expanding his skills, brewing coffee becomes an easier task more and more. Sure, he can't quite do it like André yet, who looks like he could make coffee with his eyes closed and fast asleep, but he's not bad and no one has complained about any shitty beverages while he's on shift yet, so he does something right at least.

He steams some soy milk for the latte he's preparing and carefully pours the hot liquid into the coffee once it's done, after adding vanilla and sugar as if soy milk isn't sweet enough as it is, watching the dark color lighten up gradually until he reaches the maximum capacity of the cup and finishes his pouring. He hasn't bothered to attempt latte art, not only because he's not really good at it and would end up disappointing both the customer and himself in the end, but also because it's to go and the foam on top will never see the light of day again once Lando puts the biodegradable lid on the equally eco-friendly cup.

He pushes it across the counter, wishes the girl a nice day, and watches as she leaves and the shop turns quiet again. Lando sighs and decides to actually clean up a bit before he'll get scolded for being messy again. It takes less time than anticipated, which is equally as frustrating as the work itself. No one is paying him any mind, so he does what he is normally not allowed to do and takes out his phone.

* * *

**roomie [17:28]:** help

 **maximus [17:28]:** no

 **maximus [17:29]:** what do you need help with

 **roomie [17:32]:** i'm alone at work and bored :(

 **maximus [17:33]:** is loverboy not there to entertain you?

 **roomie [17:36]:** stop calling him that

 **roomie [17:36]:** and no he's not here, that's what being on shift alone means max

 **maximus [17:37]:** don't get smart with me when you're the one requiring my attention

 **maximus [17:38]:** i think he'll actually work later, pierre said something about it lol

 **roomie [17:41]:** he will what now?????

 **roomie [17:42]:** and why does everyone but me now that I'M NOT PREPARED MAX

 **maximus [17:46]:** *know

 **maximus [17:46]:** and it's not my fault you don't know your fucking work schedule mate

 **roomie [17:49]:** god i'm so fucked he'll be here every minute akdhfhsk

 **maximus [17:53]:** stop being a dramatic bitch and get back to work ffs

* * *

“Hey Lando, how's the pace today?” Charles asks way too cheerfully when he emerges from the back, tying the black apron around his slim waist as he speaks. Lando swallows around the lump in his throat and smiles shakily, fumbling to let his phone slide into the back pocket of his jeans without dropping it on the floor. Charles doesn't even see any of that, too busy swiping his card to clock in and when he turns around, Lando exhales heavily.

“It's been slow ever since I clocked in, dinner rush hasn't started yet.”

Charles hums and reads through their online orders, which aren't many to be fair, and Lando tries to take his eyes off him and jumps once again when Charles claps his hands and gives some sort of pep talk that takes exactly ten seconds and consists entirely of empty words that will motivate neither him nor Lando, but he appreciates the gesture and agrees to do the pick-up, which includes making most of the coffee, during rush hour. Charles will clean up after their shift in return.

When Lando started working at Pitstop, which is still the worst joke of a name ever, Charles was nothing more than an obnoxious co-worker who knew everything better and generally always seemed to have to prove himself. Nowadays, he's the co-worker Lando is hopelessly infatuated with, and Max likes to give him shit about it whenever he can, which is why gym hottie is the perfect occasion for revenge. Anyway, Charles has been nice to him ever since André encouraged him to be, and it feels a lot more genuine these days. He's nice to work with and they get along fine, passing each other behind the counter in coordinated movements, never colliding, always working in synch, and dinner rush feels less exhausting with Charles dealing with the order line.

They lock up the shop together after Charles has cleaned up and Lando counted out the money in the register, and he's tired in a really good way that assures him that he worked hard enough to get a good night's sleep. Charles is wearing a letterman jacket of their uni, in the ugly dark blue color that Lando doesn't vibe with and he hates how his co-worker pulls that off. He looks like a cliché high school jock, with his hair messy from running his hands through it all evening and a confident smile on his face, hands hidden in the pockets of the jacket.

“I'll see you around,” he says because it's quiet between them and it makes him feel awkward, unsure about himself and he knows he's bound to feel embarrassed when they meet again if they part in silence now. Charles stops at the next corner, the artificial light of the closest street lamp illuminating his handsome features and dipping him into an orange glow. He smiles softly and Lando's heart does something it's really not supposed to do before he smiles back, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah, until our next shared shift?”

“Who knows, maybe I'll see you on campus. I'll make sure to say hi.”

“Okay, yeah. See you soon, Charles.”

He repeats the phrase and they share another smile before they go their own ways, strolling towards their respective dorm buildings without the company of a familiar person. Lando still thinks about the way Charles has pronounced his name when he unlocks the door of his apartment. He hates his own feelings so much.

* * *

_ the bois™ _

[21:23]

 **milkman:** max is gym hottie there

 **prince charming:** tf

 **prince charming:** who is gym hottie and why am i only hearing about them now

 **alex:** that's a very dangerous game you're playing there

 **prince charming:** eh it's worth sleeping on the couch if i can invade max's privacy

 **milkman:** gym hottie is max's new crush and apparently he's v hot

 **sad gay:** lando stfu

 **nick:** so that's why he doesn't want anyone to join him huh

 **nick:** i wouldn't snatch his man but tbh i have better things to do than watch max drool about some guy

 **lancelot:** like studying french

 **nick:** i can't stress the dying part enough

 **sad gay:** he's NOT my crush, i've only seen him once stop jumping to conclusions

 **milkman:** that sounded a lot different last night maxy

 **milkman:** and i am legally allowed to jump to conclusions when you talk about jumping him for 24 hours straight

 **sad gay:** lando norris i will end you once i'm home

 **sad gay:** also fyi he's not here

 **nick:** (yet)

 **milkman:** so you can't thirst about his arms tonight? what a shame

[21:48]

 **sad gay:** he did show up hahahahahahelp

 **milkman:** WHAT IS HE DOING

 **milkman:** MAX ARE YOU STILL BREATHING

 **sad gay:** i have died and gone to heaven thanks for your concern x

 **prince charming:** *hell

 **sad gay:** i will ignore this for your own safety george

 **sad gay:** he's weight lifting again

 **milkman:** rip max it was underwhelming to know you

 **sad gay:** i haven't mentioned this before but

 **sad gay:** i would pay all my tuition money to touch his hair tbh

 **prince charming:** now this is just getting ridiculous

 **sad gay:** HE HAS CURLS GEORGE

 **prince charming:** that explains a lot, doesn't make you less weird tho

 **alex:** okay max's suffering is actually quite amusing

 **milkman:** you're so fucked max hahaha

[22:28]

 **sad gay:** i mean i wish

 **lancelot:** please spare us

 **prince charming:** and suddenly your username makes sense again :)

* * *

**the annoying one [22:38]:** is it bad that i'm considering going to the gym at night now because of the hot guy i met there

 **mikeymoo [22:40]:** tbh i don't care as long as you actually go

 **mikeymoo [22:40]:** whatever makes you happy and prevents you from falling in love with every second person you see

 **the annoying one [22:41]:** you're the most supportive roommate i've ever had wow

 **mikeymoo [22:42]:** i am also the only roommate you've ever had

 **the annoying one [22:42]:** can you learn to take a fucking compliment even if it's sarcastic istg

* * *

**dan the man [22:38]:** is it bad that i'm considering going to the gym at night now because of the hot guy i met there

 **fabio fantastique [22:53]:** why are you like this

 **fabio fantastique [22:53]:** i mean mave dropped a light on me during rehearsal to get my attention so i guess it's not the worst approach ever

 **fabio fantastique [22:54]:** but isn't this a bit sad even for your standards

 **dan the man [23:05]:** at least it's something? he's really cute, cut a guy some slack and be a supportive friend for once :(

 **dan the man [23:06]:** btw how is the script progress going

 **dan the man [23:21]:** ???

 **fabio fantastique [23:29]:** tell me more about your man

* * *

**daniel r [22:40]:** is it bad that i'm considering going to the gym at night now because of the hot guy i met there

 **lew [22:42]:** are you going to stalk him or just admire?

 **daniel r [22:43]:** just admire/thirst, i'm not a stalker

 **lew [22:46]:** sure you aren't

 **daniel r [22:47]:** now that's just rude

* * *

**dannyboy [23:01]:** is it bad that i'm considering going to the gym at night now because of the hot guy i met there

 **charlieboy [23:15]:** yes

 **charlieboy [23:15]:** dating people you meet at the gym is the worst thing you can do

 **charlieboy [23:16]:** remember miguel?

 **dannyboy [23:18]:** charles i met him once for like 2 minutes

 **dannyboy [23:19]:** also your taste in men is trash so i wasn't surprised

 **dannyboy [23:21]:** *in men excluding your barista :)))

 **charlieboy [23:22]:** blocked

* * *

**[23:48]**

**headfullofscreams:** I have a question

 **hrhp-mev:** Ask me

 **headfullofscreams:** Is it bad that i'm considering going to the gym at night now because of the hot guy I met there last night because I was busy during the day when I'd normally go?

 **hrhp-mev:** Nah, I always do that!

 **hrhp-mev:** It's nice to avoid people and I hear less of the „what is an English major doing at the gym“ haha

 **hrhp-mev:** I used to go during the day because of this really ripped guy but he switched schools so I went back to going at night

 **headfullofscreams:** Finally someone who gets me :D

* * *

Max smiles and puts his phone down, too worn out to come up with a smart reply and not willing to appear stupid in front of a stranger. Then again, it's the internet, Max would probably still sound sophisticated with his brain removed compared to some people he comes across on Twitter and the likes. He gets up from his bed and abandons the phone though, deciding that falling asleep without a shower and dinner wouldn't be the smartest idea. He drags himself to the kitchen and checks the fridge, finds some eggs and milk. And some broccoli. He really needs to go grocery shopping, unlike Lando he despises living on milk and cereal alone. He figures it'll have to do for now though and takes the vegetable out, rummages around for a cutting board and knife and cuts off as much as he deems enough for his dinner, puts the other part back in the fridge, and cleans up his mess. One can't leave the kitchen dirty and then complain about Lando being messy, after all.

He wrestles with the rice cooker for a little, until he's figured the right water to rice ratio out and inserts the compartment with his broccoli on top to let it steam while the rice cooks. It's a handy investment, if one eats healthy food once in a while, unlike Lando. Max leaves it to do its work and takes a shower in a meantime, getting rid of the sweat and stress from the day and finally relaxing under the warm water – warm, not hot, he's not that masochistic. He washes his hair because he's still got time left before his dinner will be ready and lets his mind wander for a while. It's self-care in a way, allowing himself a break from critical thinking and judging almost everyone and everything.

Max decides to get out of the shower when his thoughts stray back to his earlier workout in the gym, back to the handsome stranger and the way his muscles flexed, to how good he looked in the mirror when he ran his hands through his sweaty curls, and Max turns the water cold for the last 30 seconds. He doesn't have time for that kind of self-care right now. And besides, he would never dare to go back to the gym if he did that, with guilt eating him alive.

He scrambles some eggs in addition to his dinner and eats his entire plate in silence, staring at the pale kitchen wall and thinking about Hamlet, because that's definitely less arousing than the stranger at the gym. Max swallows down his last bit of egg, sighs, and drops his head on the table in despair. He's such an idiot.

* * *

_ thirst club _

[17:18]

 **ricciardhoe:** is anyone in the studio atm?

 **lewis:** charles and i aren't

 **quartararhoe:** me neither

 **satan:** pierre is in the lib stalking his nemesis as usual so you're good i think

 **ricciardhoe:** i worked out the issue in my duet choreo, gotta practice it before i forget it

 **lewis:** no more torturing michael in the studio tho

 **ricciardhoe:** it's not torturing if it's consensual

 **nichoe:** that makes absolutely no sense

 **italianhoe:** btw who changed our display names again??

 **satan:** probably lewis and he's not wrong

 **satan:** just not very original i'm afraid and nico's is the worst ngl

 **pierre:** what song are you choreographing @dan @mike

 **ricciardhoe:** havana :)

 **pierre:** pls don't grind on the floor AGAIN

 **ricciardhoe:** you can't stop me

 **satan:** can we talk about how pierre got to keep his username tho

 **satan:** not fair

_lewis changed “pierre” to “lew's favorite”_

**lew's favorite:** <3

 **lew's favorite:** ALSO HE'S NOT MY NEMESIS STFU

* * *

“This looks absolutely ridiculous,” Michael complains with a sigh, eyeing the broom in his hand suspiciously. Daniel rolls his eyes and drops his own one to set up the music, kneeling down next to his Bluetooth speaker and selecting the right song in a process that feels as natural as breathing at this point.

“We'll have microphone stands for the actual show but until the final few rehearsals these will have to do. It's really not that bad.”

The sound of a piano fills the studio and Daniel hurries to take his place next to Michael, broom in his right hand, and an enthusiastic smile on his face while his roommate glares at him in the mirror. He's advised to watch and judge the choreography, not the equipment they use, so he takes a step back as to not get hit in the face by Daniel, who starts counting with the rhythm, eyes focused on his own movements in the mirror. It's not the hardest choreography he's ever done, and Lewis has definitely forced him through worse things in the past years, but letting it look sensual just the way he wants it is not only about the choreographed steps.

There's a lot of rhythmic walking in his choreography still, which is something he'll have to redo at some point soon, but it's good and he's satisfied with his changes so far. Michael seems to enjoy it too, follows Daniel's lead without any bigger complaints and in the end, it doesn't matter whether they grind against microphone stands or brooms. As long as they don't do it on the floor again, anyway.

Daniel decides to stay longer, both to work out the kinks in their duet and to fix his solo performance. He's not a perfectionist, or at least he doesn't like calling himself that because it feels weird to say it, as if he's trying to brag about putting more effort in his work than others. It's not like other people work less hard than him and there's no such thing as perfect. Daniel isn't a perfectionist, he's just someone who wants to feel good about what he does and proud of his work, which is why he finetunes his music and practices moving down the broom in the right speed until his thighs burn. It'll never be perfect and he's well aware of that but that's no reason not to try it until he's happy with himself at least.

It's why dancing and music are such a good outlet for his energy. Those are things he can do for himself because they make him happy and he can share them if he wants to and keep it to himself if he doesn't and he can always improve and work but at the end of the day, it makes him happy, no matter whether Michael almost chokes on air when he laughs at his ridiculous steps or Esteban calls his baselines shit. It makes him happy and that's all the perfection he needs, and his friends never really criticize him in a way that makes him doubt his work anyway.

Yet it hasn't always been this way. It's all good now, when he can sit behind his drum kit during band practice and sing along with Antonio or when Fabio shows him new power moves and backspin transitions. It's been different at WAAPA, where fitting in felt so difficult despite knowing the people, the city, despite working all his life with the goal of going there one day. Majoring dance hadn't worked out for him, in an oh so familiar environment that felt more ill-fitting than his shirts, surrounded by people judging him until he forced himself into styles and moves that never felt quite right. He's wanted this to be his chance to prove himself in the world, to find his own place as an independent person, but he's felt stuck in place, too close to home to ever feel like he could be himself. Michael has left him to suffer alone, letting Perth crush him underneath skyscrapers and high expectations.

He had to fight through it all alone, he's never felt this alone and lost at home before. Two phone calls later he left WAAPA and everything he knew, everything he's grown so accustomed to behind and tried again, going into composition and pulling himself out of this mess. Michael had dragged him to a dance club meeting one day, only a month after he's started studying at the new university, and he's barely ever missed practice since. In a group of people eager to incorporate his very own style into theirs, other students willing to teach him and learn in return, he's finally felt like he's found his place.

It's why those music shows are so important to him. He wants to do well to payback for all the good he's received. It has nothing to do with perfectionism, not to him.

* * *

**[18:32]**

**hrhp-mev:** Ugh, kill me

**[19:11]**

**headfullofscreams:** What's wrong?

 **hrhp-mev:** A friend of mine is part of my uni's drama club and asked me to help with writing the script for the play at the end of the year

 **hrhp-mev:** And I was dumb enough to agree

 **hrhp-mev:** So now that it's almost done and they're preparing the casting process they want me to play a role

 **headfullofscreams:** That's awesome though, I'm lowkey jealous

 **hrhp-mev:** It's going to be a musical and I can't sing or dance for shit

 **hrhp-mev:** I don't want to embarrass myself but I also don't want to disappoint my friend and it's conflicting :/

 **headfullofscreams:** I say you should go for it! It's probably going to be fun

 **headfullofscreams:** And you wrote the script, right? You can just pick the role you liked writing the most and audition, no one knows the characters as well as you do

 **headfullofscreams:** And you know which characters will dance or sing or something, so you can audition for a role that doesn't sing as much

 **hrhp-mev:** I guess you're right

 **headfullofscreams:** I always am, honey

**[20:38]**

**hrhp-mev:** Don't call me that-

 **headfullofscreams:** What else should I call you then?

 **hrhp-mev:** You know what? Fine, if I can audition for a fucking musical I can deal with pet names

 **hrhp-mev:** What should I call you then?

 **headfullofscreams:** Well, my friends call me Dan

 **hrhp-mev:** Are we friends though?

 **headfullofscreams:** …........what

 **hrhp-mev:** I'm kidding, of course we're friends haha

 **headfullofscreams:** :)💛

* * *

**alex's asshole bf [21:32]:** max

 **alex's asshole bf [21:32]:** maxmaxmax

 **alex's asshole bf [21:45]:** maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaax

 **alex's asshole bf [21:51]:** MAX MAX MAX MAX MAX

 **alex's asshole bf [22:07]:** MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN

 **nerd [22:19]:** can you stfu i'm busy

 **alex's asshole bf [22:20]:** stop sucking dick at the gym for 5 secs

 **nerd [22:20]:** what do you want

 **alex's asshole bf [22:21]:** when will the script be ready? and are you auditioning?

 **nerd [22:22]:** by the end of this week hopefully and i might

 **alex's asshole bf [22:23]:** fabio wanted to know, thanks for the info

 **alex's asshole bf [22:24]:** you may resume the dick sucking

 **nerd [22:25]:** bro i wish

* * *

There's someone knocking on the door. No one ever knocks on doors anymore these days, which is the first thing about the situation that startles Lando. The second thing follows a second later when he pauses his game and takes off his headphones, only to be met with the full range of the repetitive noise. Whoever it is, almost breaks the door down with how hard they're banging their hand against the wood. Lando doesn't really know whether he should be concerned or scared or suspicious or all at once but he settles for simply wanting the noise to end, so he hurries to open the door. The third thing is that it's already past 10 pm and why anyone would try to talk to him this urgently at that time of the day is completely lost to him.

“I swear if you don't stop yelling so loudly that the entire damn building can hear you right fucking now I will- Lando?”

In front of his door, dressed in a grey hoodie and black basketball shorts, looking very annoyed, is Michael Italiano from his Sports Media course. Lando blinks at him, once, twice, and feels his ears heating when he realizes that he must have been yelling for an hour straight at least while playing, and that apparently, everyone could hear him. Or at least Michael did, which is worse.

It's not like Lando looks up to him or anything, that would simply be stupid, but he has a huge amount of respect for the guy who saves his ass regularly despite not really being friends with him outside of their shared major. He's not scared of Michael, he doubts that anyone really is, yet he can be a bit frightening when he wants to be and Lando never wants to leave a bad impression ever, so this incident makes him want to dig a hole and die in it.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't realize how loud I was.”

“I didn't realize that you live next door until now. It's fine, kid, just tone it down a bit, alright? I really want to sleep before my roommate gets home.”

“Yeah, nah, definitely, I'm so sorry, I swear it won't happen again.”

Michael's features soften in the artificial light of the hallway and he flashes Lando a smile, which is returned, albeit hesitantly. Lando isn't that good at dealing with situations like this one, doubts that anyone really is, and it's all so embarrassing and he doesn't quite understand how Michael went from banging on his door and swearing to calling him kid, wait, did that actually happen? in the matter of seconds.

He leaves Lando alone shortly after that, waving goodbye before he disappears into his own apartment. Which is right next to Lando's. How neither of them has noticed that before is a riddle without a solution to him but at least he now knows where to go when he's in need of help after spilling coffee over his notes or similar unfortunate accidents. He sits back down in front of his computer, the chair squeaking under his weight, and he's still frowning about the entire revelation when he continues his game.

Coincidences don't exist, he thinks, and barely suppresses a whooping noise when he wins another battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait but if michael and lando live next door to each other that would mean- nevermind, you've made it to the end! i hope it hasn't been too confusing so far :) chapter 3 is still in the editing phase and i'll work on the fourth one soon, so if i can keep up the pace i might update this every sunday but i don't want to promise too much, we all know that i'm a mess when it comes to.....well everything really but especially when it comes to updating my fics.
> 
> i love you all for sticking with me despite the chaos though, i appreciate your support so genuinely much and it means the world to me that some people actually read my shenanigans. so thank you, you absolute legends <3
> 
> kudos, comments, and all kinds of other feedback is, as always, very much appreciated and puts a smile on my face
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https:/komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) if you want to talk to me or listen to me losing my mind
> 
> i'll see you (hopefully) next week <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **sad gay:** you're all so goddamn stupid ugh why am i friends with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the long wait, school is starting to kick my butt and life happened in one way or another, so editing this chapter took longer than anticipated. thank you for the patience though, i appreciate it a lot.
> 
> this chapter is just.... a mess and i have no idea whether it makes sense? but we're getting somewhere and progress is never bad. there are some more new characters too, which is great! also, unfortunate meetings and their consequences, i guess. 
> 
> no matter whether this actually moves us forward or leaves us stuck in place, we'll have some nice encounters and a few more introspective views on things. i hope that you'll enjoy this one :)

Friday comes with warm weather and a slow morning, which Max spends with a cup of tea in front of his laptop, chewing on his pencil as his eyes jump from line to line. He tries to figure out just what about the lines doesn't make sense. He has the solution somewhere in his head but it's too early for him to pick it out and replace the words on the screen with the right things. On the other hand, it's Friday and Fabio wants the script by Sunday because Max was stupid enough to tell George that he could do it. In reality, he doesn't. Max has no idea whether he can do that.

He has a lecture in two hours and an assignment to finish until Tuesday and while his goal of staying on top of his work has never quite worked out, he does try to do things on time. Fabio knows that he has other work to do besides the script, he's a busy university student himself, after all, but Max doesn't want to disappoint him again. He's postponed the entire thing before, he promised to meet an earlier deadline before and he did work hard to meet the expectations. In the end, Max is human and has his own limits.

**[07:11]**

**hrhp-mev:** This is random but

 **hrhp-mev:** I have no idea how I'm going to finish the script I told you about until Sunday

 **hrhp-mev:** I mean, I'm almost done but I have to edit it a lot and I'm scared of not finishing it on time

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm sure you'll be fine! And your friend will probably find one thing or another that they want to change anyway, so it's okay if it's not perfect yet, right?

 **hrhp-mev:** You're probably right

 **hrhp-mev:** I have all weekend to finish it so it should be fine

 **hrhp-mev:** I can switch and do my assignment when I run out of motivation haha

 **headfullofscreams:** What's your assignment about?

 **hrhp-mev:** Poetic metres

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm so sorry dear

 **headfullofscreams:** If it was something different I could've tried to help you

 **hrhp-mev:** Nah it's fine, I just have to bullshit a lot to fill enough pages

 **headfullofscreams:** But don't those metres kind of add to the rhythm of poems or some shit

 **headfullofscreams:** I did have English class at some point, thank God I got out of that by taking Italian

 **hrhp-mev:** They do, that's why this really shouldn't be hard for me but it's just painful

 **headfullofscreams:** I feel you haha

 **headfullofscreams:** Just because you enjoy something it doesn't make writing about it easier... But could you somehow refer to your own work? Like, talk about how much the metre influences your work process, whether you choose it intentionally or whatever

 **hrhp-mev:** I mean, I could try but idk how that would work out

 **hrhp-mev:** Thank you for the suggestion though, it does help me a lot!

He decides to put the phone back down and, with a glance at the watch, decides to get some more work done while he can before he has to leave. Unlike his roommate, he does try to be on time for his lectures once in a while. Only when he nods at his changes and goes to the next page does he notice the smile that is still present on his face.

* * *

_hoes+val_

[11:02]

 **nico #1:** okay losers, we're going out tonight

 **eminem:** actually you're the only loser here but go off

 **eminem:** where are we going to tho

 **babythot:** not to the hangar

 **babythot:** marc got banned from that place lol

 **eminem:** you're so nice today wow

 **nico #2:** we haven't been to cliff in a while

 **daddy:** literally no one calls it that

 **val:** cliff hanger's it is

 **nico #1:** can you bully dan into coming @michael

 **nico #1:** i haven't seen his lonely ass in a while

 **daddy:** i really do not want to talk about his ass

 **daddy:** but i do appreciate every chance to bully him so i will

 **babythot:** bring the dance club

 **babythot:** i want to make fun of nico about his crush

 **daddy:** i have never seen lewis at a club before this is gonna be good

 **nico #2:** can you all stfu

 **val:** someone's cranky huh

 **eminem:** it's because his crush isn't texting him back probs :/

* * *

Friday is fried chicken day. Everyone on campus knows that, which makes eating lunch such an unpleasant experience. Lando doesn't even want the chicken, well he does but he knows he stands no chance because everyone suddenly turns into a football player when it comes to fried chicken, but he's starving and Max offered to pay for his lunch, and that's the simplest equation of all. No broke university student ever turns down food someone else is paying for, not even if it's their equally as broke roommate. It's how he ends up in the middle of chaos with chicken and vegetables on his plate, his roommate on the other side of the table with a similar dish, poking through his carrots. He looks even more tired than usual, exhausted from his work, and done with his classes, despite still having one ahead of him before the weekend.

“We're going out to party tonight,” he says, which makes Max's head snap up, blue eyes wide in confusion. Lando doesn't take no for an answer though, cutting through the chicken breast on his plate and stuffing the smaller piece into his mouth while Max still tries to find an excuse to hole up in his room instead to watch Netflix and work on his assignment.

“Stop it,” Lando interrupts before Max even gets to say something, mouth already open to form a no, to end the discussion right there and then. He should have known better, which he seems to realize as he digs through his mashed potatoes.

“Can we at least bring someone else? I don't want to listen to you crying about Charles all night.”

It's a compromise, Lando smiles. This is going to be good.

* * *

_the bois™_

[11:48]

 **milkman:** kids we're going partying

 **nick:** can we leave george at home i do not want to get my mind tainted again

 **prince charming:** this is bullying

 **alex:** actually i agree with nicholas for once

 **milkman:** top ten anime betrayals

 **alex:** actually he should come so lando isn't the saddest view of the night

 **milkman:** i thought you were different alex

 **sad gay:** you're all so goddamn stupid ugh why am i friends with you

* * *

_thirst club_

**italianhoe:** we're meeting at cliff hanger's tonight at 10

 **italianhoe:** don't be late ladies

 **lewis:** i'm not coming

 **italianhoe:** i knew you'd say that

 **italianhoe:** which is why we've invited your boyfriend :)

 **lewis:** michael i do not have a boyfriend

 **satan:** sure you don't

 **satan:** i'm coming and i'm dragging pierre with me <3

 **quartararhoe:** can i bring my bf though

 **italianhoe:** some other students will join us, i thought they'd ask him to join but sure

 **nyck:** i can't join, stoffel will kill me if i do :/

 **satan:** stoffel is not your mom tho

 **satan:** @mike is your useless roommate coming btw

 **italianhoe:** he doesn't have much of a choice tbh

 **lewis:** i won't babysit the lot of you

 **lew's favorite:** you better won't or charles will cry all night about not being able to hoe around

* * *

Daniel's head is blissfully empty. His roommate would probably add some dry comment about how his head's always empty anyway if he was there, but at that moment, Daniel is all on his own. Despite having his eyes wide open, it feels like he's closed them. He doesn't think, he just lets his body do the work for him as he nods his head along to the rhythm. It's one of the few rare occasions in which he can't coerce a smile on his face, too concentrated on the task at hand while his mind is so far away at the same time. His hands move in perfect flow with his feet, he doesn't feel the uncomfortable pressure of his headphones anymore, it's the easy as breathing.

He keeps playing and with each note, with each flick of his wrist, with every move of his feet, it becomes easier. Easier to play, easier to breathe, easier to forget about life for a few minutes, easier to bury his issues underneath the metallic noise of cymbals, and the even vibration of the bass drum. It's the perfect way to take out his frustration and the pent up rage of the week until his arms and legs hurt from the physical strain of playing for so long. Note after note leaves him, random rhythms accompanying imaginary songs and melodies as he moves his drum sticks time and time again.

“Hey, Andrew Neiman, time for a break before you ruin your hearing for the rest of your life,” Michael says with sickening sweetness in his voice when he more or less carefully removes the headphones from Daniel's ears.

It's like pulling a plug. Suddenly Daniel is back in his dorm bedroom, sitting in front of his electric drum kit. He's only dressed in socks and boxer shorts, sweating from hammering away for the past hour or so, he has no idea for how long he's been sitting there, and it's pretty pathetic but Michael doesn't seem to care. He's seen worse. Daniel puts the drum sticks down, looks up at his roommate, and tries not to look annoyed, which is harder than he'd like to admit, especially after the horribly executed Whiplash reference.

“The fuck's you're problem?” he thinks.

“What do you want?” he asks instead, unplugging the headphones and getting up to snake past Michael to put on a shirt.

“You've been hiding in your room for the past three hours like a fucking gremlin, so I've decided to take you to the club tonight,” Michael explains and Daniel sighs at that suggestion that's really not something he can actually get out of, now that Michael is determined to make it happen. Instead, he unplugs the drum kit and puts the drum sticks away, making an effort to clean up a bit while Michael is right there to judge him. He didn't realize that he's been going at it for the past three hours. Now that he thinks about it, he suddenly feels uncomfortably sweaty underneath the white fabric of the shirt that sticks to his back.

“Where are we going?” he wants to know because he knows he's already lost, walking past Michael and pulling his wardrobe open to pick out some acceptable clothes, as if they always do it like that, as if it's normal for his roommate to just invade his private space like that. Maybe because it is by now. He should really do some laundry soon.

“Cliff Hanger's.”

“Oh, we haven't been to Cliff in a while,” he adds, just for good measurement and because it would be awkward to end the conversation there. He pulls a fresh pair of jeans out of the wardrobe and picks a fitting shirt, delighted to find that it doesn't have too many crinkles yet. It smells fresh, which is good enough, and more than one could probably expect from Daniel usually, someone who wears the same shirt three days in a row if there's no one around to judge him.

“Literally no one calls it that,” Michael groans as Daniel leaves the room on his way to the bathroom for a shower, corners of his lips twitching suspiciously.

* * *

Max is not really one for parties. He's too awkward to dance, not well-known enough to chat up the other people, not enough into alcohol to do shots with Lando, who will most likely get drunk before him anyway. There's not going on much yet when they arrive but it's noisy nevertheless, music vibrating in his chest with the force of the baseline, a song that is probably popular but unknown to him blasting from the speakers, main room dipped in the ever-changing reel of primary colors. And green, of course, which hurts his eyes already.

George has one arm slung across his shoulder while he's talking to Nicholas in a conversation Max isn't even involved in. Lando shoves some odd-looking beverage into his hand, plastic cup sweating with the ice cubes fighting against the stuffy heat of the club. It tastes like too much alcohol and a hint of artificial raspberries but it's good enough for something Max didn't pay for, so he nurses the cup for a while until Lando finds something else to enhance his barely evolving tipsiness with.

Someone yells Lando's name over the noise of the music and Max frowns while his mind tries to catch up and put a name to the familiar face that is giddily grinning next to him now. Lando makes his way over to them with a cup of an unidentified liquid in his hand and Max can watch the dumb smile growing on his face once the surprise wears off.

Now it clicks.

Standing in front of him is Maverick Viñales, dressed in a black hoodie despite the warmth in the building. It's almost admirable. Hanging off his arm is Fabio, who smiles at Max before snatching the cup from Lando's hand to down it in one go, briefly scrunching his nose before he laughs at Lando's loud complaints. It's a bit like dealing with five-year-olds. Probably worse, Max has not yet spent a lot of time dealing with five-year-olds in his life. He's not quite sure what kind of connection Lando has to the theater kids but he figures it doesn't matter when someone runs into him and pushes him into Lando, offering nothing but a quick apology before disappearing in the crowd again. Max sends a death glare in the general direction the stranger's disappeared into before turning back to the small group that is suddenly forming. God, he hates coincidental meetings like this one.

Fabio smiles at him from where he's still holding on to Maverick's arm, lime green shirt clashing with the black of his boyfriend's, or so Max assumes, hoodie. There's something unspoken between them but it's Friday night, time to let loose and let go of the issues a life of responsibilities brings, and they both know that talking about the script is not going to lighten up the general mood at all, so they settle on moving a bit to the music, nothing serious as Max still refuses to dance, while catching up and talking about sports Max doesn't actually care about.

“One can literally not go anywhere without running into you,” a foreign voice complains all of a sudden from behind Max. He moves to the side to make space for the newcomer. He's about Lando's height, with a kind smile and warm brown eyes, matching hair strands laying messily on top of his head. He seems nice yet Max just feels this kind of energy that means that he's up to no good.

He introduces himself as Marc after bantering for some good five minutes with Maverick and Fabio while Max and Lando watch from the sidelines. He's a design major as Max finds out after letting him ramble for a while, which sounds like he might now Charles, which is just absolutely perfect to bully Lando with. Fabio sneaks away to get something to drink, leaving his boyfriend alone to fight with Marc and the other students.

Their group grows with what seems like every passing second. Suddenly a kid called Alex shows up and judging by the light that dies in Marc's eyes and the very obvious visual similarities it's probably his brother. Max somehow gets his hands on another cup before Lando drags him to stand somewhere else. He feels way too sweaty for the few moving around he's done so far that night, hand holding on tightly to his cup while he lightly nods his head to the beat of the music.

Something extremely funny, in Max's humble opinion, happens no two songs later, when he spots a familiar mop of brown hair, poorly bleached strands hanging into Pierre's eyes where he's standing on the other side of the club. If Pierre's there that inevitably means that Charles can't be far away either. So Max nudges Lando with his elbow and points over to the other student and watches how the color drains from Lando's face, smile faltering as his blue eyes widen dramatically. It's amusing in a way, how frightened Lando looks just by the possibility of Charles being there.

What Max doesn't notice is how Pierre senses Lando's eyes on him, looks over at them, and walks over with a bright smile on his face, dragging someone else along on his way. Only when Charles gives them a sheepish smile does Max realize what's going on. After the initial urge to escape the situation, simply because he and Charles have never quite gotten along all too well in the past, he returns the smile weakly and hands his cup to Lando, who definitely needs the drink more than Max does right now.

Pierre meets his eyes and rolls his own, coaxing a more genuine smile out of Max when the mutual annoyance of stupid friends in love comes across. There's not much of another connection between them other than their dumb roommates. Pierre studies architecture while Max is not into numbers at all. He used to do ballet while Max barely knows how to move to music that's currently playing at the club. Pierre is way too nice sometimes while Max barely ever smiles at people when he crosses the campus, even on a Friday after class. He doesn't want to say that there are absolutely no similarities between them but at first glance, Pierre is a way better person than him, who seemingly has his life under control, if one ignores his sad highlights, which are offending to every hairdresser in a hundred-mile radius. Then again, those were probably Charles's failed work of art and it doesn't even look bad on Pierre, which is just all the more offending to Max and his self-confidence.

“Come on, we'll leave them to it,” he yells over the music and Max nods in agreement before he follows the French student back to the bar, leaning against the countertop and watching the crowd from there. Pierre sighs and orders something to drink for them, for which he receives a grateful smile before Max's eyes are back on the crowd. His heart aches in a horribly weird way when he spots something on the dance floor.

Fabio Quartararo, moving to the music as if he was born to do it. It's not an unexpected sight, Max knows that he can dance, there's something way more irritating about it all.

He's got one of his arms slung across someone else's shoulder, hips moving to the rhythm lazily as they laugh together. Max recognizes the other person only when they twirl Fabio around and now he realizes why his heart ached in his chest. It's gym hottie, Lando's words not Max's, whose hands are ghosting over Fabio's waist without ever really touching him, whose whole attention is on the performance acting student grinding in the empty space between them. He feels his throat go dry, right when Pierre hands him a drink.

“Who's that?” he asks, as casually as he manages while his heat is having a field day racing in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the pair but he can still sense Pierre moving around to stand next to him again. The response doesn't come immediately but Max doesn't ask again, that would be pathetic and might come across as if he cares. Which he does of course, but Pierre doesn't have to know that.

“Daniel Ricciardo, music composition major. Why?”

Of course, he asks. Fuck. Max shrugs, takes a sip of his drink and tries not to cough when it burns down his throat.

“Isn't Fabio dating Maverick? Maybe it just seemed like that to me though, I have no clue, honestly.”

“Nah, they've been a thing for almost a year by now, I think. Daniel's just a friend. Maverick doesn't care, they're just dancing after all. That's all they ever do, hoe around and embarrass themselves.”

Pierre turns his head away from the pair on the dancefloor to look at Max again, brows furrowed with a frown. Max keeps staring and gnaws on his lower lip, unable to tear his eyes away. Pierre leaves him to be after another minute of consideration and probably tries to figure out what his issue is. Or maybe he knows and Max really isn't as smooth as he'd like to be and it's really just obvious. Either way, Pierre doesn't say anything.

“Finish your drink,” he instructs Max after downing the leftovers of his own beverage in one go, putting the glass back down on the counter with a bit too much force. Max frowns in confusion but follows the instructions, feels his head spin for a brief second after swallowing the last drops, and looks back up at Pierre, who's smiling at him with a glint in his eyes that can't realistically mean anything good.

“We're going dancing.”

* * *

Daniel is startled, to say the least, when Fabio is dragged away by his boyfriend suddenly and he's left to dance alone. It's not bad, he's confident enough to dance on his own in the club, but he has no idea where Michael has disappeared to, and now that Fabio's left him to die alone, he's all the more helpless in the crowd.

That is until he spots Pierre, who winks at him with a smile before wiggling around. Another body collides with his, and he barely stands his ground, holding on to the shoulders of the stranger so they won't lose their balance. Pierre lifts an eyebrow, as if he's telling Daniel to thank him later, and then he's gone and the stranger looks up at him, and he watches his blue eyes widen before he scrambles backward and out of Daniel's grip with embarrassment written all over his face. He swallows hard around the lump that's forming in his throat.

In front of him stands the guy he's been admiring, not stalking, thank you very much, at the gym for the past week. His dark blonde hair looks a bit neater than Daniel has gotten to know it, and he's now dressed in a white shirt and a pair of black jeans, which he shouldn't find as hot as he does. There's just something about seeing him dressed in more casual clothes. Daniel smiles and moves closer to him, not quite sure about what to do just yet but figuring that it can't really go all that bad.

“I'm sorry, Pierre can be a bit … strange sometimes,” he says, loud enough for the other student to hear, scratching the back of his head as he laughs nervously. He hasn't felt this anxious about talking to another person in a long time. The stranger smiles at him now though, eyes softening into something warmer from his earlier panic. It's something, Daniel figures.

“I know, don't worry. My roommate's crushing on his, so I've gotten to know him pretty well,” the handsome stranger replies with a shrug, and Daniel wonders how he can be so chill about this entire situation. He still looks a bit tense though, which is slightly relieving.

“You know Charles?”

“Yeah. I guess it's a small world, huh? I'm Max, by the way,” Max introduces himself and Daniel has a hard time staying calm at that revelation. Instead of overreacting because a cute guy who happens to have mutual friends with him has told him his name, he smiles and moves another step closer to understand Max better over the music.

“Nice to meet you, Max. I'm-”

“I know,” Max interrupts and startles Daniel again. Silence stretches between them for a few seconds but then Daniel laughs at the ridiculousness of the entire situation and relaxes when Max joins in.

“So, Max, shall we dance?”

* * *

**[04:31]**

**hrhp-mev:** omg

 **hrhp-mev:** You won't believe what just happened to me

 **headfullofscreams:** Tell me and I might

 **hrhp-mev:** Okay but why are you awake???

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm still out partying actually, or well, eating pizza with a friend while he cries about his crush

 **hrhp-mev:** Sounds.....fun

 **headfullofscreams:** Okay honey, tell me about what happened to you

 **hrhp-mev:** So there's this cute guy at uni, right? I don't have any subjects with him but I see him once in a while

 **hrhp-mev:** And tonight I met him at the club and a mutual friend just shoved me right into his face

 **headfullofscreams:** Wow, smooth

 **hrhp-mev:** Right??

 **hrhp-mev:** Anyway we talked for a bit

 **hrhp-mev:** AND THEN WE DANCED FJGHFHS

 **headfullofscreams:** Oh God, lucky you

 **headfullofscreams:** How did it go though?

 **hrhp-mev:** I'm obviously still shitty at dancing but I guess the alcohol eased me into it

 **hrhp-mev:** God he's so much hotter up close

 **hrhp-mev:** And I didn't think that was even possible

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm so excited for you haha

 **hrhp-mev:** We didn't really touch much? I don't know, maybe he thought I wasn't comfortable with that, or he himself wasn't

 **hrhp-mev:** But honestly, he could step on me and I'd thank him ugh

 **headfullofscreams:** Maybe he was just trying not to cross your boundaries? Like, if your friend just threw you into that situation he might've tried to be careful about that

 **headfullofscreams:** Hard to believe but some guys actually care about your feelings

 **hrhp-mev:** You're probably right

 **headfullofscreams:** I mean, I do

 **hrhp-mev:** <3

 **headfullofscreams:** But I'm glad that your hot boy is nice enough to behave himself

 **headfullofscreams:** I'll break his neck if he does hurt you

 **hrhp-mev:** Maybe I'll ask him to though

 **headfullofscreams:** Mentally scarred forever, thank you

 **hrhp-mev:** I mean, I know he works out so he could probably just...throw me around like a ragdoll

 **headfullofscreams:** What happened to the innocent soft boy? Who am I talking to??

 **hrhp-mev:** It's 4 am, let me be horny :(

 **hrhp-mev:** He has such nice hands too,,,,, is it too much to ask for him to choke me

 **headfullofscreams:** Maybe wait for that until the third date or something

 **hrhp-mev:** Yeah, you're right :/

 **headfullofscreams:** Go to sleep you horny demon, I have a pizza to eat

 **hrhp-mev:** Good night, Dan

 **hrhp-mev:** Don't die on your way home

 **headfullofscreams:** I won't, who else is supposed to listen to you drooling over your crush?

 **hrhp-mev:** You're always so caring <3

* * *

_get lando laid task force_

[10:52]

_antonio sent a video_

_antonio sent a video_

_antonio sent a video_

**carlos:** OMG WHY WAS I NOT THERE TO WITNESS THAT

 **carlos:** THAT'S PRICELESS I LOVE YOU TONIO

 **pierre:** oh my fucking god how did i miss this????????

 **esteban:** lando is so stupid i love it

 **pierre:** they're both stupid istfg

 **antonio:** are we going to tell them or-?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> max is going to horny jail and honestly? i can't blame him. 
> 
> i hope the whiplash reference made some kind of sense (as andrew neiman is the main character of the movie and it's about, yknow, jazz drumming. michael is so smart omg) and if it didn't that's character building at its finest. i'm glad to finally include a few more motogp riders in this fic as i'm not yet confident enough in my knowledge and skills to write about them in seperate works and this is just the perfect chance to try it out, i guess. eminem as marc's username....because of m and m and that's how eminem got his name too- i'll shut up now, the way i think makes no sense whatsoever.
> 
> thank you for not giving up on me yet, that means the world to me. kudos, comments, and any other kind of feedback is always appreciated beyond human comprehension and seriously makes my day <3
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) where i randomly appear once ever five hundred years to yell about sports. have a good one, i hope that i'll be able to update this on time soon :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ratatouille [18:21]:** i am once again asking for your validation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: says i'll update this soon  
> also me: disappears for a month and a half
> 
> welcome back legends! first of all, i sincerely apologize for taking so long with this one but not only did it take me forever to shape this into the chapter i wanted, school and my personal life have been a bit spicy lately, and with an exam or two a week, it has become increasingly more difficult to motivate myself to do literally anything in my free time other than napping and studying/doing homework.
> 
> i am back with this chapter now though and i really hope that you'll enjoy this one as much as i did while writing it! it's mostly just a filler chapter but there's one key scene here that'll introduce a new side conflict, and i'm super excited about how it turned out. other than that, it's just rambling about food and productivity, because that's what school does to people.
> 
> have fun :)

Max wakes up with the worst headache ever.

Well, maybe not the worst one ever but at least the worst he's had in a while. The room spins when he sits up and his head tries to kill him, payback for the last night. Lando is already awake and rummaging around in the kitchen, which his head hates noise-wise but at least he's fallen asleep in his own bed and presumably alone, which is a relief. He swings his legs over the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh and slides off the mattress. The wooden floor feels cold underneath his bare feet and he's slowly beginning to think that his sister's suggestion to put a carpet in front of his bed may not be as bad as he originally thought.

It takes entire ten minutes of showering, two glasses of water, one painkiller, and five minutes of brushing his teeth for Max to feel a bit more presentable again. He fishes his last clean shirt out of his closet, makes a mental note to bully Lando into doing the laundry, and gets dressed before he drags himself to the kitchen on a quest to find coffee without his roommate asking too many questions about how the last night went for Max.

Truthfully, it hasn't been bad. He doesn't remember much just yet but he's certain that some coffee and a croissant will help him to put the pieces back together. Lando is laying on the table when Max enters the kitchen, head planted on the stained wood next to a mug of coffee and a bowl of cornflakes. Max raises his eyebrow, takes care of his own breakfast. Lando never drinks coffee.

“You never drink coffee,” Max points out when he takes a seat next to his barely alive looking roommate while his croissant spins around in the microwave. All he receives in return is a grumbled mess of words, so he pats Lando's back and takes a sip of the coffee. It's a bit too bitter for his taste but he appreciates that Lando has made enough for both of them, it's the will that counts after all. His own headache is still lingering around but finally wearing off and when he gets up to retrieve his croissant from the microwave, the room has stopped spinning.

The first bite feels like a sip of cold water on a hot summer day after running a few kilometers and while Max doesn't make a scene by moaning inappropriately, he does sigh appreciatively as he chews on the fluffy pastry, the buttery dough mixing with warm chocolate in his mouth. He takes another sip of the coffee and unlocks his phone to take a look at the disaster he's missed in the past hours, just to be faced with a ton of unread messages and he's even been added to a new group chat.

He frowns and taps on the notification, and then his frown deepens, even more, when he reads the title of the chat. A quick scroll through the list of members reveals a few known faces and some unknown numbers, and Carlos has already spammed the chat with unnecessary capslock messages. When Max scrolls further up, he comes across a few videos, sent to the group by Antonio. According to the other people collectively losing their minds in the chat, it is worth watching. So Max turns the volume down a bit, takes another bite of his croissant, and clicks play.

When he replays the videos and holds the speaker to his ear to understand what's actually going on, he almost chokes on his croissant. He swallows it bravely as to not arise suspicion and puts down his food to focus on typing.

* * *

_get lando laid task force_

[11:31]

 **max:** we aren't

 **max:** lando would freak out if we told him

 **max:** i'll keep it as blackmail though x

 **george:** we'll show them this footage at their wedding lmao

* * *

It's already past noon when Pierre arrives in front of the oh so familiar door. He's stood in front of it many times before, late at night with ice cream tubs, early in the morning with a chicken soup made with his mom's recipe, in the afternoon before dance classes and courses. Now, he's standing there with a history book in his trembling hands, debating whether to knock or to leave and let it be before anyone sees him.

The decision gets ripped away from him when the door opens right in front of him and he's faced with-

“Hi Pierre,” and God, he wants to hate the good mood that swings in his voice and the grin on his face, and he wants to ignore the way his blonde hair is still messed up. He deliberately avoids the piercing blue of his eyes, the satisfied glow in them.

“Hello, Marcus.”

He makes his way past the leaving visitor and hears the door fall shut behind him with a heavy thud. He doesn't want to be jealous, he isn't jealous, there's no reason to be. He plays no part in this relationship and he doesn't want to, or so he's been telling himself for the past months. He takes off his jacket and places it on the usual hanger, light blue against the contrast of darker jackets and a yellow rain poncho.

There's noise in the bathroom but the door is open, so Pierre announces his arrival before he drops the history book on the kitchen table, on top of stained score sheets and lyrics with neat pencil notes scribbled between dark lines of printed words. The coffee mug he knows so well is half empty, the liquid is probably cold by now. There's another one in the sink that he pretends not to see.

Antonio's flat has been looking homey and inviting ever since he's moved in during his first year of university. Pierre didn't know him back then but offered to help him carry the boxes up to his apartment, and they soon bonded over their shared interests. And Dirty Dancing, well, mostly Dirty Dancing. Back when Pierre was still doing ballet and Antonio wasn't considered one of the uni's best singers yet. Better times, he thinks and abandons that thought with a scrunched nose because that thought makes him feel about thirty years older than he actually is.

“Are you coming?” Antonio asks from the bathroom, just loud enough for Pierre to hear over the sound of running water waving through the apartment. He nods, aware that his friend can't actually see that, and walks towards the bathroom, around the couch with the ill-fitting pillows, the polaroids mixing with sticky notes, postcards, and university letters on the pinboard in the hallway, past the table he used to walk into the first few times that he visited, past the open bedroom door.

It's a lot brighter than in his own apartment, with sunlight shining through the big windows, filtering through half-closed curtains. Pierre has always felt at home in this apartment that reminds him of warm summer evenings spent sitting at patios near the Seine back in Paris, back when his life still seemed to go in the direction he wanted it to go. He's not bitter, not anymore, and being here feels so much better than training all day for a dream that he questions now, one that might have never been his own.

Antonio is sitting on the edge of the tub when Pierre steps into the room and awkwardly leans against the doorframe that immediately digs into his muscles through the thin shirt. He's not even looking up at Pierre, too engrossed in his task at hand. Pierre swallows around the lump in his throat and croaks out a cough, to signalize his arrival.

He has never seen Antonio, or quite frankly anyone, shave before. And now he's sitting there, dressed in only an old shirt that used to be white at some point but slowly fades into soft yellow and a pair of red and black plaid boxer shorts and runs the sharp blades across his skin as if he's never done anything else. He has his hair tied up in a bun, with only a single strand escaping, tugged behind his ear. Pierre watches as the white foam disappears and leaves a flawless line of smooth skin behind, blinks, and can still not quite grasp onto the surreal situation.

“You don't have to be weird about it,” he speaks up when he cleans the blade. Their eyes meet briefly, Pierre smiles before he moves to sit down on the bathmat, picking up the towel and draping it over his knees. His friend resumes his work and begins anew, slowly dragging the blade up his leg, stopping after a bit before continuing on his way upwards until he reaches his knee. Pierre watches as if caught in a trance.

“It's better not to do it in one go, that way you avoid accidentally cutting yourself,” Antonio explains. He leans forward and twists his leg slightly to better access his calf. When he's done, he cleans the blade again, carefully puts the razor down, and picks up the showerhead to wash the leftover foam off his leg. It swirls through the water into the drain, Pierre still doesn't know what to say.

Instead, he watches as Antonio picks up the washcloth from the bottom of the tub and runs it over his skin one, two, three times before he pays attention to the other leg. It is weirdly calming. When he's done, he takes the foam bottle and presses some more of it into his hand, spreading it over his skin until it's fully hidden underneath the creamy white. His fingers wrap around the handle of the razor and Pierre's eyes follow as he moves it back to his leg.

The razor is a pretty shade of purple, almost lavender when the mix of artificial light and rays of sunshine hit it right, and Pierre keeps watching the way the blade moves around, tracing every edge and bump, and every imperfect line as it moves around the silver flex ball that holds it all together. It's mesmerizing, vulnerable, almost too intimate for Pierre not to make a big deal out of it.

“You were at the party yesterday, I didn't see you,” he finally speaks up. It's a statement of some sort, something that comes out of the blue for both of them but Antonio only hums in acknowledgment and cleans the blade again. Pierre fiddles with the fabric of the towel in his hands. It's fluffier than most towels he has encountered so far at university. That doesn't even matter. Antonio smiles and shrugs before putting the blade to his skin again.

“Marcus dragged me there,” as if that explains anything. Maybe it does, Pierre wouldn't know. He rarely knows what's going on in Antonio's life these days anyway.

“I see. I tried setting Max up with that hot guy from your music trio.”

“Esteban was there?”

“Fuck no, I have no idea where he was, I mean Daniel.”

“Daniel.” He blows the strand of hair out of his face, eyes still trained on his leg to avoid any mistakes. Pierre doubts that Antonio cuts himself that often, what he does looks way too professional. He knows that he's been doing it for quite some time now. Pierre doubts that he could do it this effortlessly. Maybe that would've been the thing to stop him from pursuing a career in ballet if it wasn't for … he wants to snort at the image it creates in his head.

“You don't sound impressed.”

“Aren't you in a dance club with him?”

He nods and hands Antonio the towel when he holds out his hand, it's good to see that at least their wordless communication still works, despite everything, despite Marcus. Antonio turns off the water before he slowly dries his legs and swings them across the edge of the tub elegantly. He gets up and grabs what Pierre assumes to be aftershave moisturizer from the counter. He plops down on the floor next to his friend and maybe it looks a bit weird, with Pierre dressed in ripped jeans and a thin white sweater and Antonio in the same clothes that he's probably slept in. They're out of place in the tiny dorm bathroom but Pierre can't help but bathe in the situation and enjoy their own messed up Saturday noon for as long as he can.

“I was busy filming anyway. We can go out to party next week.”

“Your wobbly movies of Lando's and Charles's love confessions are a cinematographic artwork, Tones.”

“Time to change my major, right?”

Pierre laughs while Antonio lathers his legs in the moisturizing cream and almost chokes on it, opting for quieting down again instead. If Antonio notices, he doesn't comment on it. It's one of the things Pierre appreciates about him.

“Marcus likes it when I shave my legs,” Antonio says nonchalantly, slaps his own calf, and gets back up to tidy up the bathroom. Pierre hums in reply and swallows the bitter taste that information leaves in his mouth. He's not jealous of Marcus, there's no reason to be. After all, Marcus is Antonio's boyfriend, not him. He's Antonio's best friend if he's allowed to say so himself, and he's supposed to listen and smile and tease Antonio about it. Pierre should listen to him rant about all the cute things Marcus does and ask for the details, not hum at it bitterly, and wish for things to be different.

“As he should,” he says instead because he doesn't want to say something mean accidentally. He gets up from the bathroom floor and stretches his legs, feels the burn in the back of his knees from sitting down too long. Antonio almost runs into him on his way out of the bathroom, leaving Pierre to stand there alone.

“I mean, I'd still do it even if he didn't,” he continues from his bedroom. When he comes back, he's wearing a dark blue sweater and black basketball shorts. He doesn't usually dress like this but if he wants to show off his legs, Pierre will be the last one to complain.

“That's the right mindset.”

“Right? I just love rubbing my legs together when they feel this smooth.” Pierre follows his laugh to the kitchen after turning on the ventilation in the bathroom and closing the door, smiling softly on his way. Antonio is cleaning the mugs, humming to an imaginary song, and swaying his hips. It feels domestic in a way that makes his skin itch. Pierre averts his gaze and sits down on the chair closest to the door when his eyes land on the history book.

“You forgot your history book at my place, that's why initially came here.”

“Merci, Pear.”

He nods quietly, there's nothing more to be said about it, nothing that would add something useful to their conversation, anyway. They always forget stuff at each other's place, it's been like this since forever, and Charles likes to complain about it when he's forced to do Antonio's laundry by accident once again. It's not Pierre's fault that Antonio tends to forget half of his belongings on their couch.

They hug at the door, across the doorstep, and Pierre digs his fingernails into his palm when he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, fearing that he'll do something stupid if he doesn't contain himself. Antonio smiles and closes the door, and Pierre is faced with the familiar wooden surface again, coming full circle. He leaves before he can cry in frustration again. It shouldn't have to be this way.

* * *

**[15:33]**

**hrhp-mev:** Can I give you one very useful tip? Never work on theater scrips when you're hungover

 **headfullofscreams:** I probably won't ever be in that situation but thanks

 **hrhp-mev:** I swear I've been working on it since noon and I feel as if I haven't made any process at all

 **hrhp-mev:** I just really want to get this over with and I still have some 10 pages to go

 **headfullofscreams:** Take a break

 **headfullofscreams:** Like, I don't know, go outside for a bit or make some coffee and then get back and it'll probably be a bit easier then

**[16:14]**

**hrhp-mev:** I did make some coffee and I even found a cupcake in the fridge that was still edible?

 **headfullofscreams:** Jackpot hahaha

 **hrhp-mev:** I guess I'll go back to work now, thanks for the distraction

 **headfullofscreams:** That's what I'm here for :)

* * *

Max's time management has never been the best but he's been working on it, yet despite all the progress that he's made, his workload is still slightly stressing him out at the moment. He's been working on the script all day after breakfast, only taking two breaks to use the toilet and to drink a coffee. He's mentally exhausted and unmotivated, it's a sunny Saturday and he's stuck in his room, working on a script.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighs quietly in the loneliness of his bedroom, and hits the delete button until the last two lines have disappeared from the page and the character name and the colon are alone with the blinking black line once again. It would be a lot easier if his brain would cooperate but he's stuck once again. It's so unreasonably annoying, not being able to kick himself into work if he's actually committed to getting it done. He doesn't want to procrastinate but he doesn't really have much of a choice. His head hits the surface of his desk with a heavy thud.

He's almost done, he only has a few more pages to write and then it's just editing and time for a few adjustments. It' should be fine, he could do it, the theater kids won't have to wait for the script any longer. When he looks back up and the script stares back at him, he still feels discouraged. He needs to get out of his room, get into a different environment. Maybe a change of scenery will help him to get back into a productive mindset and restore his motivation. Max grabs his phone and warns Lando that he's going to show up at the coffee shop sometime soon to annoy him at work before he packs his stuff, shoving his laptop into his backpack and rolling up the charger cable neatly before putting it into a different compartment, zipping up everything and swinging the bag over his shoulder. It's a warm day, so he's good to go without a jacket in his sweater, which means that he leaves his apartment no ten minutes after having the initial idea after putting on his shoes and grabbing his keys and wallet.

The sun shines in his face as he crosses the campus on his way to Pitstop, which makes the cool breeze a lot more tolerable. A few students are already using the warmer weather again to lay in the sun and study outside, and a small group is playing softball on the lawn as Max walks past. Some windows of the music building are opened, mostly tilted to let fresh air into the studios and the practice rooms, and soft melodies float through the air, escaping the rooms.

He's about to round the corner of the building when something unusual catches his ears and he frowns, slowing his steps to listen closer. Someone's playing the electric guitar, which isn't all that spectacular, but it's good. Max has rarely heard someone play that instrument and pulling it off, especially not at his university, which should be concerning, seeing as music is one of the biggest departments. He fiddles with his phone, pulling it out of the pocket of his pants, spinning it in his hands, and putting it back, just so he gets to listen for another few seconds. He's not really into electronic instruments of any kind but he likes the song that is being played, even if he doesn't recognize it.

Whoever is playing must have talented fingers, which Max only realizes would probably sound inappropriate if he said it out loud once the thought has passed his mind already. It sounds cool though, the way certain notes drag on longer than others, how they evenly flow into one another, followed by so many quick ones that Max doubts are easy to play. He's not all that well acquainted with how music works but it sounds difficult and it's nice to listen to, and Max thinks he might just stand and listen and watch in awe if he was in the room with whoever is practicing on their own up there.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and drags him back out of his trance, reminding him of where he's actually supposed to be. He shakes his head and smiles at his own weird behavior before he resumes walking, crossing the street, walking in the same direction until he stops in front of the familiar door, pulls it open, and steps inside.

Lando is working behind the counter, dressed in his apron, and focusing on cleaning something up. He'd look adorable if he wasn't Max's best friend. Max smiles and sits down by the counter, taking his laptop out of his bag and putting it up on top of the counter, watching Lando while he waits for the laptop to turn on so he could get back to work. He's still thinking of that electric guitar, quietly humming the melody that's now stuck in his head.

He orders a herbal tea so he'll be able to fall asleep at a decent time later and opens the document again, rereading the last scene, and when Lando places the steaming beverage in front of him and Max reaches the point where he's left off, it suddenly clicks and there's a spark, an idea that spreads like a wildfire, and his fingers start flying across the keyboard before he can really think about it any further, filling the next page with black letters until they outweigh the blank space, and now that he's written one page, he surely can do another. He remembers his tea at some point, so he takes a break to take a few sips and text Dan about his success, with the sound of that guitar still playing on repeat in his head.

* * *

**ratatouille [18:04]:** are you home?

 **ricciardeau [18:13]:** nah, i'm just leaving the studio now

 **ricciardeau [18:13]:** what do you need?

 **ratatouille [18:20]:** i sent you a sound file via email, please take a look at it

 **ratatouille [18:21]:** i need it for a project and idk whether i like it yet

 **ratatouille [18:21]:** i am once again asking for your validation

 **ricciardeau [18:23]:** i'll look at it once i'm home, i promise

 **ratatouille [18:24]:** merci mate

 **ratatouille [18:24]:** what are you even doing at the studio on a saturday btw??

 **ricciardeau [18:26]:** practicing some rock songs on the guitar

 **ratatouille [18:29]:** you haven't touched your guitar in months

 **ratatouille [18:33]:** stop trying to come up with some dirty reply, i could see you type for the past three minutes

 **ricciardeau [18:33]:** you're no fun do you know that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daniel playing the guitar? weird.
> 
> anyway, that's it for this week! not much development here but that's the magic of slow burn, baby, and i'm a bit concerned about the pace of this fic. therefore, i might drag it on for a bit longer than strictly necessary but it's my fic, so i might as well, right?
> 
> i hope you've enjoyed this one. i can't really promise anything for the next chapter but i have seemingly less work to do over the course of next week, so maybe i'll actually update on time for once, though i don't have high hopes at this point anymore. i'll definitely try to hurry up a bit haha
> 
> thank you so much for reading this to the end and for sticking around and patiently waiting for more, i'm very grateful for that. your amazing feedback and the support really means the world to me. i'll see you soon <3
> 
> by the way, please come annoy me on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) if you want entertainment between the chapters, i promise i won't bite (unless you ask nicely)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **maximus [22:00]:** why does he have to do pushups if he could do me instead :/
> 
>  **roomie [22:01]:** alright bye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me not taking a month to update? weird.
> 
> i'm done with the majority of my exams now (at least until the new year) and with lockdown regulations getting stricter again, i only have to attend school full time for one more week before the break, which gives me a lot more time and mental capacity to work on this fic and other projects. i'm hoping to get a bit ahead of schedule with this fic so i'll actually be able to post more than like once a month. i'm working on it, i promise.
> 
> there's not much else to be said about this fic, so have fun with a few essays about food and the like, and an interesting discovery to spice things up and get this trainwreck going. enjoy :)
> 
> (the song mentioned in this chapter is [problems](https://open.spotify.com/track/51TeC7QD7g4pyDz8FQDXdS?si=1osWWT--SsKByiaRhxE-aA) by anne-marie)

“I think being in love with you is bad for my health but I can't see me doing this with no one else, so, guess I can't be blaming anyone but myself,” he sings, and the microphone becomes slippery in his grip. The light is too bright in the studio, and Antonio's eyes on him fill him with unease as if he's in danger of doing something wrong. He knows it's stupid, Antonio is his friend and he's there to help him, and if he judges him, he wouldn't tell Daniel anyway.

Antonio is leaning against the piano, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks a bit like a rich boy, dressed in a white polo shirt and white sneakers, the black watch on his wrist matching his pants, and he watches Daniel closely. He's frowning slightly, and Daniel really hopes that it's just because he's focussing on the way he sings, not because of how bad it actually is.

He's never been the best singer, especially not compared to Antonio, but he's always loved singing and he's trying to get better at it, to sing his own demos and hit higher notes without his voice giving up after the third attempt, and he's been practicing quite a lot over the past months. Antonio bites his lip during the chorus and shifts in his pose, and Daniel holds on to his microphone a bit harder and closes his eyes to sing, so he won't have to look at Antonio judging his skills any longer, to feel the rhythm and get into the mood of the song. It's easier when he has someone he's thinking of when he's singing, and he sings a bit more confident, a bit louder and clearer, and moves his body to the beat, not as much as he usually does when he's dancing but it's something, and he feels a lot more comfortable than he did a minute ago.

“We got problems but I need you, so we deal with it,” he finishes and slowly pries his sweaty fingers away from the microphone, wiping them on his jeans before he looks up at Antonio, who's turning off the playback, fiddling with his phone for a few more seconds while Daniel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for his evaluation.

“I think you should play the electric guitar to this song, it's there in the original and it might give you a bit more confidence, something to hold onto,” Antonio speaks up and smiles when he sees Daniel relax, shoulders falling down with the reduced pressure.

“This song isn't that easy to sing, considering the fast changes between high and low notes but you're doing well. There's some fine-tuning to do here and there, nothing you're not capable of. You're good, Daniel, believe me. I'm not saying this because we're friends, well, not entirely, anyway, but because you have the talent and you're determined. Don't be so insecure.”

It's what everyone always says, that he shouldn't be insecure, that he could easily be better if he let go and just did things without caring about other's opinions for once. It's not really Daniel's thing, maybe it used to be when he was younger. The past years have probably taken that away from him, although he can't blame the past for his current behavior, and Michael would probably kick his ass for thinking that way if he knew about it.

Michael has played a big role in his recovery, he's been there to drag Daniel out of the mess he's been stuck him, or at least he has held his hand out and helped him by pulling a bit until Daniel was strong enough to get up off the ground by himself. He's always preached about how he should have a more positive mindset, about things he could do to improve his state of mind again. He's sent him cliche Pinterest quotes to motivate him, he stayed awake way past midnight right before exam week to listen to Daniel rant, he's made sure that he maintains a schedule and eats regularly, and Daniel is genuinely thankful for everything he's done. So he thinks of his roommate now, and he nods and thanks Antonio for his criticism.

“Can I try it with the guitar?”

It takes five minutes to set it all up and resolve the knot of the cables on the floor, five minutes which Antonio uses to look up the chords for the song for Daniel to play. The setup is a bit weird but it works, and Daniel tunes the electric guitar in his hands and plays the first few lines of the songs to get an overview of how this entire thing is going to go, and then Antonio stands back, and he smiles before he wipes a strand of hair out of his face and directs all his attention on listening to Daniel's performance.

He doesn't know why but the entire thing gets a bit easier with the guitar in his hands, something to hold on to, as Antonio has phrased it, and he doesn't think about his singing as much, too focused on playing the right strings, metal digging into his fingertips in a familiar way. It grounds him, and before he knows it, he's playing the last few lines, and he's smiling, not quite confident yet but more so than earlier, and Antonio is smiling as well, with that excited shine in his eyes that sometimes appears, Daniel knows it from their hours spent composing songs together.

“There you go, mio amico, that's what we're looking for,” he exclaims and Daniel exhales shakily and nods, putting the electric guitar down carefully. Antonio takes his phone back and closes the tab with the chords, checking his watch after.

“Obviously you have to practice the second pre-chorus a bit more since it's the highest part, but it's good, you should be proud of yourself.”

“Go to your date, I'll be alright,” Daniel replies and smiles knowingly. Antonio laughs and picks up his backpack, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his pants, and then he makes his way over to the door while Daniel picks his guitar back up and pulls out his own phone to look up the chords again, just to be save. He stops, hand already on the door handle, and turns around to look at Daniel one more time.

“Don't torture yourself too much or your throat will be sore tomorrow.”

“I can only tell you to do the same, Toni.”

* * *

**[23:49]**

**hrhp-mev:** I did it! I finished the script!

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm proud of you, honey :)

 **hrhp-mev:** I have 11 more minutes to send it to my friend, what is life

 **headfullofscreams:** You're doing amazing mate, really

 **headfullofscreams:** Doesn't matter how close to that deadline you are, you did it and you did great, so don't stress too much, alright?

 **hrhp-mev:** Thank you so much, it's very kind of you to say that

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm serious, you're doing great

 **headfullofscreams:** Now send that script to your friend, turn your phone off, and be proud for a bit

 **headfullofscreams:** And then sleep, it's late

 **hrhp-mev:** You should sleep as well, idiot

 **headfullofscreams:** <3

* * *

**maximus [21:49]:** lando

 **maximus [21:49]:** help

 **roomie [21:52]:** alright i will listen to you thirst

 **roomie [21:52]:** what is gym hottie up to?

 **maximus [21:52]:** doing pushups

 **roomie [21:53]:** sounds spicy

 **maximus [21:54]:** you can't even imagine how hard i'm suffering

 **roomie [21:55]:** i will refrain from making an inappropriate comment

 **roomie [21:55]:** for my own sake

 **maximus [21:56]:** ugh this is so unfair

 **maximus [21:56]:** who allowed him to look this hot

 **roomie [21:56]:** wild idea but you could just talk to him???

 **maximus [21:57]:** to suffer up close? no thanks sir

 **roomie [21:57]:** call him that not me

 **maximus [21:58]:** don't give me ideas

 **roomie [21:58]:** your royal highness prince max v i am legally required to make fun of your sad pining at your wedding do you know that

 **maximus [21:59]:** i hate you so much

 **roomie [22:00]:** no you don't and we both know that

 **maximus [22:00]:** why does he have to do pushups if he could do me instead :/

 **roomie [22:01]:** alright bye

 **roomie [22:01]:** you should ask him though :)

 **maximus [22:02]:** LANDO NO

* * *

Lando isn't anxious, not as much as he could potentially be, anyway. He's clutching his phone in one hand, waiting for Michael to reply to his text while the line keeps moving. The cafeteria is busy as it always is, crowded by hungry students, and Lando turns his phone on and off, and on and off, and on again until the message finally appears on his lock screen and he feels himself relax a bit. It feels like being left alone with the groceries at the checkout while his mom leaves to get another bag of toast, except Michael is very much not his mother and he's simply waiting for his pizza order, it's not that big of a deal.

He orders both pizzas and swipes his student card to pay for their lunch, and his phone lights up again right before he picks up the plates, informing him about Michael's whereabouts. He shoves his card and the phone into the back pocket of his pants, picks up the tray with their plates, and carefully makes his way through the room, dodging other students and the tables, until his sight clears up and he spots Michael sitting near the windows, smiling when he in return sees Lando. He waves him over and Lando hurries, smiling as he sits down on the other side of the table, carefully putting the tray down between them.

“I figured you'd be fine with water,” he says, not as a form of greeting really, but Michael doesn't seem to care, thanking Lando and reaching for the water bottle to screw it open and take a sip while Lando takes their plates off the tray to put the tasteless grey thing away to rest at the other end of the table until they need it again. Michael checks his phone quickly before putting it down on the table, not quite out of reach but far enough to be out of his view probably, display turned towards the table. It would be a nice gesture if Lando wasn't so anxious about having all the attention on him.

They're not really friends, not the way he's friends with Max, or Pierre, or even Charles, and yet they're eating lunch together as if it's a regular occurrence for them. Lando's brain needs a bit of time to cope with that, so he opens his lemonade, which he needs a bit more effort for than Michael did with his bottle, not that he's surprised by that. Around them, the cafeteria keeps buzzing, people talking loudly while the silence stretches out between them.

“I'm really glad you didn't order pineapple pizza, that would've put a serious strain on our friendship.”

And that resolves something in Lando, like a blockade in his head is suddenly gone, and he laughs and shakes his head, feeling himself relax on his chair as he plays with the cap of his bottle. Michael smiles as well and picks up his first slice of pizza to take a bite, Lando copies his actions and busies himself with chewing on cheese, tomato sauce, and salami, mixed with the dough and some lemonade, while he tries to think of something to say.

“I'm not a monster and besides, I'm sure Max would kick me out of our apartment if I dared to do that.”

“Yeah,” Michael says with a chuckle, taking a napkin from the tray to remove some tomato sauce from his fingers, “I'm sure my roommate regularly eats it just out of spite. One time, he ordered a pizza with pineapple and black olives on it and I haven't recovered yet.”

“That sounds terrible, oh my God,” and then he joins in on the laughter and watches Michael scrunch his nose in disgust at the memory before he takes another bite of his pizza.

“I bet you two would get along well, you should come over sometime.”

“I don't want to be invasive,” he replies, truthfully, taking a bite of his own pizza to hide his embarrassment, swallowing it down with some more lemonade. Sure, it's just Michael and his roommate, who's probably just as chill and understanding, but the thought of intruding makes the anxiety flare back up. Lando isn't all that good at visiting other people, he's always been uncomfortable at sleepovers, staying longer than a few hours at someone else's place has never been a very appealing thing to him.

“It's fine, honestly. It's our monthly taco evening today, you could come over for dinner if you want? I'm sure my roommate won't be home for long anyway, so you'd be free to leave immediately after dinner.”

Lando sighs, munching on the crust of his pizza slice, weighing the situation. Michael is looking at him expectantly, and he called him his friend earlier, and Lando is really bad at saying no in situations like this one. He probably won't die and he's only going next door, if he screamed loud enough, Max would surely come over to rescue him from their neighbors. Michael isn't someone who forces people into situations they can't deal with, Lando is pretty certain about that, but he also has his ways of coaxing them out of their comfort zone. His shoulders drop, he nods reluctantly.

“Alright, sure.”

* * *

There's dust on top of the desk, Max can see that even from where he's sitting a few meters away, knees tucked up to make himself as small as possible on the chair. Neither Esteban nor Fabio are there yet, so he's left alone with his thoughts, and the script that's placed on top of the dark wood and the dust, crisp white against the dark underground, like it's there to hurt and mock him, his own work that the other's will tear apart in front of him in a few minutes as if he hasn't spent the majority of his free time and brain cells on this project.

The door opens and startles him into an upright position, feet hitting the ground again as Esteban walks in, smiling apologetically, Fabio following right behind him with his phone in hand. They sit down on the other side of the desk and Max scoots closer, swallowing around the lump in his throat, waiting for Fabio to put his phone down and grant him attention. It's only Tuesday, he's not able to deal with this situation this early in the week.

“Alright, Max,” Fabio opens the conversation when he finally puts his phone down and leans across the desk to pick up the script, “thank you for helping us, first of all, we couldn't have done this without your help. It's really good, seriously, but there are some things we'd like to go over again, just to make sure they work out smoothly.”

He nods and watches as Fabio flicks through the pages. There are neon green sticky notes between the pages, matching Fabio's shirt, and he finds the first one, opens that page and reveals a few highlighted lines to Max, with notes written in pencil right next to them. It doesn't look as bad as Max would've expected it to, so he slowly relaxes and focuses on what Fabio tells him, humming along in agreement, adding his own ideas whenever he can, catching Esteban's reassuring smile once in a while.

He didn't expect his work to be perfect and flawless, that's not how writing works. There is no such thing as perfection when it comes to art, and he's aware of that. He's just surprised about how positively Fabio talks about the script, how he tells him about so many details that he loved when he read it first, even though Max only submitted it two days ago. Esteban throws some thoughts into the conversation here and there, suggestions about the music and stage design that Max acknowledges but can't really put in perspective with his own limited knowledge.

“This has the potential to be good, seriously. Could you edit it until tomorrow so we can start the casting this weekend?”

“Honestly? It's less editing than I expected. I can do that, yeah.”

Fabio smiles, Esteban smiles, and Max can't help but join in, pride slowly growing in his chest. Fabio is right, this might be good.

* * *

It's precisely 7 pm when Lando takes a deep breath and knocks on the door next to his own. Max has hidden in his room as soon as he's returned from his meeting with Esteban and Fabio, mumbling something about how he has work to do, and Lando hasn't really seen him since. He feels awkward, standing in the oh so familiar hallway, waiting for someone to let him in, and he doesn't quite know what to expect.

The door opens before he manages to come up with an answer, and he's met by the smell of fried chicken and Michael's smile.

“Good to see that you actually came,” Michael says instead of a greeting and steps away to let Lando enter. Lando conjures a smile and steps into the unknown apartment. He takes off his shoes and neatly places them next to the black Vans that haven't made it onto the shoe rack before he follows Michael through the living room and into the kitchen.

Lando is still a bit uncomfortable with the entire situation, wandering through a space he doesn't feel like he belongs into. And yet it becomes easier when he walks through the living room, past the comfortable-looking couch with the mismatched pillows and a hoodie draped over the backrest, the coffee table that's hidden underneath letters, a music magazine he doesn't recognize, and an empty mug that Michael picks up on his way. Lando can easily fit Michael into that room, sitting on the couch and studying for exams, working out on one of the gym mats that are cramped between the bookshelf and the wall, watching cliche romcoms on the old tv.

“Lando's here,” he announces when he steps into the kitchen, putting the mug into the sink and moving past his roommate to the lay the table. Lando stops in the doorframe, awkwardly standing there and watching the scene from an outside perspective.

The kitchen looks just as lived in as the living room, with postcards of funny looking wallabies, Quokkas, as Lando later learns, pinned to the fridge, and a Bluetooth speaker on the window sill that fills the room with calming hip hop music by a group Lando doesn't recognize. It feels homey, with the smell of food in the air, the lamps above the stove the only source of light in the room, and an emotion overcomes Lando all of a sudden, a wave of want. He wants to fit in here, he wants to come over for the monthly taco dinner and sit down, and make himself feel at home as if this is a normal thing for him to do.

“Hi Lando,” Michael's roommate says before he turns around to look at their guest, and Lando's brain needs a second to register that it's Daniel Ricciardo smiling at him, dressed in a black sweater with his curls all over the place. Lando doesn't really know him that well, but he knows that he's friends with Charles, and that's enough information to make him freak out on the inside. He replies with a rather quiet greeting before he steps into the kitchen, willing to join them and not be all too awkward to deal with.

“I insisted on Tex-Mex, I hope you can forgive me,” Daniel says when he places the taco shells on the table, followed by the fried chicken and a bowl with lettuce. Lando laughs and reassures him that it's fine, and Daniel sends him another bright smile in return. Lando takes a seat on the chair closest to the door and watches his hosts argue about the guacamole and refried beans in a way that couldn't be less serious. Michael threatens to hit Daniel with a spoon, which makes his roommate screech in return, evoking laughter in the room that infects them all.

“What do you want to drink?” Daniel asks when he's wiped the last tears off his face after his laughing fit, throwing a can of coke from the fridge Lando's way when he asks for it. Lando catches the cold metal between his fingers and places it on the table, waiting for the pressure inside the can to calm down a bit before he cracks it open and pours some of it into his glass.

Dinner passes in a blur of laughter, stories about annoying professors and weird assignments, and Lando relaxes the longer he sits in the kitchen of his neighbors, drinks another can of coke, even if he risks not being able to sleep for a bit that way, and tells a story about his first week at uni, that has Daniel choking on his chicken with laughter. Lando grins and takes another bite of his own taco while Michael scolds Daniel for his horrible manners.

It tastes good, not that Lando thought that neither of them could cook, but he's still pleasantly surprised. Max would probably enjoy this too, he thinks, while he watches Daniel gesture wildly with his fork still in his hand, talking about something music related that Lando doesn't quite understand. Michael's laughter pulls him back out of his thoughts and into reality.

“Alrighty, I'll sadly have to leave you alone now, I still want to go to the gym tonight,” Daniel says when they're long done with dinner, remaining at the table with their drinks to talk a bit more about sports and other interests they have in common. He gets up and bumps his fist against Lando's to say goodbye, telling him how it was nice to have him around for dinner before he disappears from the kitchen and leaves Lando alone with Michael.

Michael rolls his eyes as soon as the front door falls shut behind Daniel and gets up to clean the last food off the table while Lando downs the rest of his coke. It's quiet in the kitchen now that the overly cheery music student has left and his laughter has escaped even the last corners of the room, but it's not uncomfortable. Or at less awkward than Lando expected it to be. Somehow, Michael just radiates energy that makes Lando feel as if it's okay to feel that way and takes that worry off his shoulders. Maybe that's why Daniel is so easy-going and careless in the best way all the time because he's surrounded himself with that positivity early on. Maybe Lando could be a bit more like Daniel in that aspect one day.

“I honestly have no clue why anyone would go to the gym this late,” Michael says, and puts the leftover guacamole into the fridge, “But then again, I usually go in the morning before class, so I might not be in a position to judge him.”

Lando laughs with him but there's something bugging him about this, and when it hits him full force, he almost chokes on his own breath.

Curly hair, fairly good looking in the opinion of the general public, going to the gym at an hour at which Lando would rather prefer to go to bed. It probably isn't that hard to put two and two together, yet Lando feels like this realization is quite shattering to his own little earth. Daniel is gym hottie, and he lives next door, which means-

* * *

_ maniel swat team _

[21:02]

 **lando:** DANIEL RICCIARDO IS GYM HOTTIE

 **george:** daniel who

 **lando:** the guy who does like half of the work for your stupid musical you dimwit

 **george:** oh right

 **george:** HOLY SHIT WHAT

 **charles:** what is going on

 **alex:** max is thirsting over your side hoe

 **charles:** AJDHDKS THIS IS BRILLIANT

 **lando:** IKR

 **esteban:** i was honestly not prepared for this information

 **michael:** lando and i get best men rights

 **lando:** damn right we are

 **michael:** i'm not quite vibing with that shipping name though

 **charles:** actually i knew about the maxiel situation

 **lando:** WHAT

 **george:** WHAT

 **michael:** maxiel is a lot better, thanks charlie

 **charles:** don't call me that or i will kick you tomorrow

 **charles:** yeah lol

 **charles:** pierre told me about playing wingman for dan and just straight up shoving max into him at that party last week

 **fabio:** i'm late to the party but that's amazing omg

 **lando:** charles, tell pierre i love him

 **charles:** we all do so he probably knows

 **lando:** the only important question now is

 **lando:** do i tell max?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean, we're getting somewhere, right?
> 
> thank you, as always, for being patient and supportive, that means so much to me and makes me very happy. thank you all for being amazing <3
> 
> i'll hopefully see you soon with more shenanigans. until then, stay safe and healthy!
> 
> i am, by the way, still available to yell at on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) if you want to do that, i'll be a bit more active there now as well with school not continuously occupying all of my brain cells at the same time :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **max:** the short king alliance is back
> 
>  **nyck:** why am i friends with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i say i update on sundays, i update on sundays. even if it's almost midnight.
> 
> christmas has been more hectic and busy than anticipated and my teachers are absolutely anti-social when it comes to online tasks, so i couldn't finish this chapter any earlier, for which i can only apologize.
> 
> but hey, i'm back and i'm motivated to get some work done this week to get ahead of schedule again. i'll see how that works out. for now, have fun with more food, some development, and a theater casting despite my barely existent knowledge of how auditions work. thank you for not giving up on me yet <3

_lekkerdingen_

[11:03]

 **nyck:** max when do you need your roommate back

 **max:** idk when it's time to pay rent i guess?

 **stoff:** you live in the uni dorms, you won't get kicked out if lando doesn't hand over his money in time

 **max:** not the point i was trying to make but thanks for the comment

 **max:** anyway the drama kids will annoy me until 5ish so not before that probably

 **nyck:** great

 **nyck:** i'm dragging him to the museum with me

 **nico:** sounds lame

 **nyck:** i do that instead of actual exam prep

 **nyck:** but i didn't want to go alone

 **max:** the short king alliance is back

 **nyck:** why am i friends with you

[14:30]

 **nyck:** OMG WAIT

 **nyck:** MAX

 **max:** yes nyck

 **nyck:** DOES LANDO KNOW THAT CHARLES DANCES??????

 **stoff:** why are you so obnoxious sometimes i swear

 **nico:** no swearing allowed <3

 **stoff:** stfu

 **max:** i don't think so, why?

 **nyck:** because he's picking me up from the studio later :)

 **max:** WHAT

 **max:** NYCK

 **max:** i need all the details omfg

 **nyck:** i'll tell you how it went later lmao

 **max:** bro you better

* * *

Lewis drops a pile of notebooks, loose sheets of paper, and a thin plastic binder on the floor when he enters the studio, and the noise it makes when it collides with the black floor makes Fabio flinch next to Daniel, who raises his eyes only when everyone around him suddenly goes quiet, putting down his phone and slowly turning it off while Lewis looks around and scans the people sitting on the floor in front of him. Pierre watches with interest but keeps stretching his legs, but everyone else is fully paying attention. Lewis usually never drops his stuff with this little care.

“I've got the list for the spring stage slots here.”

Fabio turns to look at Daniel, frowning at Lewis's behavior, and all Daniel can do is shrug before they both turn back to Lewis, who sits down next to the pile on the floor. He lets his eyes roam around the room once more, and then he smiles and picks up the plastic binder, opening it and taking out a single sheet of paper, while everyone eyes him curiously.

“We get four solos, three duets, and a group performance. I believe Pierre and Charles wanted one duet slot?”

“Yeah, does that work with both of us dancing the group choreo though?” Charles asks and receives a confirmation in return that makes him nod. He bites his lip, takes out his phone, and begins tapping around on it. Daniel turns back to Lewis, who's discussing Nyck's solo with him, and then to Michael, who nods and raises his hand to ask for their duet slot. They've only really just started piecing the choreography together but Daniel's confident that they will be fine by the time of the performance.

Lewis still looks a bit distracted when they're working on the group choreography later, which Daniel only really notices from the corner of his eye while he practices on his own in one corner of the room, other music blurred out by his own one blasting through the headphones. Lewis is usually never unfocused, he's always got a smile on his face and an expression that makes it so much easier to ask him for help. He's still smiling but less genuinely so, and he messes up more often than a Lewis Hamilton normally does during practice. Daniel frowns but doesn't comment on it.

“Dan?” Lewis approaches him right before he's leaving, forcing the other student to take a short break. Daniel takes off his headphones and walks over to where his bag is lying on the floor to take a sip from his water bottle. Lewis follows him, his own backpack slung across one shoulder, the binder from earlier tucked under his other arm.

“Look, you've been working really hard this past year and I really like the stuff you've been coming up with recently, so I thought you might want a solo slot for the spring stage.”

Daniel doesn't exactly choke on his water, but he swallows hard as he removes the bottle from his lips, screwing it shut while he blinks at Lewis, his brain needing a minute to catch up. He's being offered a solo spot, time alone on stage to express himself in a space that makes no one but him vulnerable, all eyes on him. He hasn't planned on doing that, content with sharing the stage and limelight with Michael, but now the opportunity is there, and he hesitates, unsure what to do and how to reply.

“I've never- I'm fine with someone else taking the spot, honestly.”

“Pierre and Charles are too busy with the other two choreographies, and Nico said he only wants to dance one thing because he needs to focus on his grades. You deserve it, Dan,” and he smiles warmly, it still doesn't quite reach his eyes but Daniel knows he means it, so he takes a deep breath and nods. What could go wrong?

* * *

There's music blaring through the hallway, escaping the studio through the open door, and Lando's pretty sure that he must be right. He holds on to the straps of his backpack nervously and makes his way inside, standing by the door as to not disturb the people dancing, scanning the room to find Nyck, only to feel his heart rate pick up speed when his brain catches up with what's going on.

Charles is there, and he's dancing together with Pierre. Lando didn't know Charles danced, it's not like was obliged to tell him but it's a surprising thing to find out. He feels himself tense up, eyes stuck to Charles's movements, the concentrated expression on his face as he keeps dancing to the music, looking like he's never done anything else in life. Something in Lando's chest aches, something undefinable that makes him want to keep staring at the way Charles's muscles shift underneath his white shirt.

When the music comes to an end, Lando swallows the lump in his throat and finally spots Nyck, who's already looking at him with mild amusement on his face from across the room. Daniel is there too, smiling at Lando in a way that promises oblivion, but there's something in the way he shortly glances at Nyck before he walks over to Charles and Pierre that makes Lando feel suspicious. But why would Daniel know about his miserable feelings?

“The second part looks better now, though there's one thing that still irks me,” Daniel speaks up, looking at Lando one more time before he steps next to Pierre and shoos Charles to stand back and watch, which he does with a frown of concentration on his face as Daniel dances his part and explains what to fix to him. Lando watches him nod and try again, together with Daniel first and then with Pierre again, and Lando's not jealous, especially because he has no reason to, but damn, he wishes he could dance. Together with Charles, preferably.

“Alright, nerd, let's go,” Nyck says next to his ear and Lando jumps, not having realized that his friend had even moved, causing him to snort amused before announcing their departure to the room. Everyone, including Charles, turns to look at them, only to drown them in a chorus of goodbyes. Lando swears that Charles smiles at him and starts a sad attempt at winking at him before he turns back to listen to Daniel's explanation, and if Lando wasn't ready for the ground to open up and swallow him before, he definitely feels like he might die of embarrassment now.

Nyck doesn't mention it anymore, not on their way to get free coffee at Pitstop before going to the museum, nor when they're there and looking at old paintings and information panels with texts that are way too long for Lando to actually read through. So while Nyck keeps fussing over old furniture and books with unreadable pages, Lando's brain switches on autopilot and automatically makes him spiral back to Charles. Charles's smile when Daniel made a joke, the focus in his eyes when he danced, the sweat on his forehead, and the way he fanned the collar of his shirt to cool down after dancing. His messy hair, how he moved with ease and confidence, the way he-

“Lando, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course, continue,” he says when he's done blinking like an idiot, and Nyck shrugs and keeps talking about some historical event that Lando would forget about even if he actually tried to remember it. The knowing smile on Nyck's lips makes him want to punch his friend.

* * *

It's later than normal when Max arrives at the gym that night. Lando has kept him busy with an hour-long monologue about Charles and what went down at the dance studio. Well, at least Max didn't have to ask Nyck for details anymore. The meeting with the drama club has taken him longer than he thought, so everything else had to get postponed as well. He's worked on an essay and some more homework before making dinner, enduring Lando's stories for another thirty minutes before packing his gym back and leaving.

Daniel's already there when he arrives, doing biceps curls, eyes focusing on some point on the floor in front of him. He doesn't notice Max, the music coming from his headphones probably drowning out the noise of the new arrival anyway. It's not like Max cares all that much, he thinks when he drops his water bottle and does a short warm-up before bandaging his hands to box for a bit, getting loose after a long day of work. He's not frustrated, just a bit tense from all the different things he had to take care of and get done with.

Daniel smiles at him when he's done boxing and taking off the bandages and takes off his headphones to greet him cheerfully, while Max is still catching his breath. The way his reply comes out makes him want to bang his head against the wall, how hard can it be to say hi like a normal person? Max sighs and tries not to think about it too hard, dropping the bandages next to his water bottle and picking it up to take a sip before getting ready for the next exercise.

It's not an awkward silence, mostly because Daniel is still listening to his music, but Max still feels like he should say something, interact in any way that goes past the initial greeting. What would they even talk about? Their days, school, the stupid weather? Max isn't good at talking to people but it's even worse with Daniel, simply because he's _Daniel_. It's not like the other student would judge him or make fun of him for being awkward, he doesn't seem like someone who would do that, but Max doesn't want to mess up in front of him. He's good at that, with his head making conversations even harder than they already are. So Max swallows down the urge to make Daniel laugh, and focusses on his situps.

* * *

**[00:21]**

**headfullofscreams:** Not to be emo on main but :(

 **hrhp-mev:** I might fall asleep halfway through this conversation but why are you sad?

 **headfullofscreams:** Do you remember the hot guy I told you about? I saw him today and I have no idea why but I was too scared to talk to him

 **headfullofscreams:** I mean, I said hi but that was it

 **hrhp-mev:** That's at least something, right? Baby steps and all that

 **headfullofscreams:** Yeah but I normally don't really have issues with talking to people

 **headfullofscreams:** It used to make me a bit anxious but it's been fine for a few years by now and still I just stood there and had no idea what to say

 **hrhp-mev:** That's because you like him! It's normal, Dan, don't worry too much about it

 **headfullofscreams:** What if he thinks I'm weird? He didn't sound too happy to see me

 **hrhp-mev:** Maybe he was just surprised? Or you caught him off-guard

 **headfullofscreams:** Maybe, yeah. I'm just sad because I feel like I don't really have a realistic chance with him

 **hrhp-mev:** There's no harm in having a crush, right? I'd tell you to just enjoy that feeling but if it makes you sad it's probably not worth it

 **hrhp-mev:** Saying hi is a good way to start, even if it's all you do for a while. If you say hi whenever you see him, maybe one day a real conversation come naturally

 **headfullofscreams:** You're probably right

 **headfullofscreams:** Thank you, honey

 **hrhp-mev:** Go to sleep, Dan

* * *

It's quiet in the library around them, so quiet that Nicholas doesn't quite dare to breathe too loud. He's still stuck on his text, the words mixing together in front of his eyes, a garbled mess of words he barely understands. His dictionary is on the table right next to him, the one thing that gets him through this. Well, the dictionary and Lance, who's sitting across from him, working on his own tasks. They've decided to get their study sessions started like that, not because tutoring seems like a worse option, but because Nicholas really has to turn in his text before the end of his extension.

“Start that sentence with 'Il convient donc d'examiner', that'll make it sound a bit more professional,” Lance says out of nowhere, and when Nicholas looks up, the other student is leaning across the table to write the phrase on the edge of the paper with a pencil, and he's dangerously close to Nicholas.

See, it might not have been his smartest idea to say yes when the boy he's had a crush on for the past years had offered to tutor him in French, but Nicholas is really bad at saying no and he'd rather suffer through spending one on one time with Lance than study French with Esteban again, who lost his mind five minutes into their first tutoring meeting.

That has been a disaster, but at least it didn't make his heart beat like crazy when he leaned in close to read his text upside down. He needs that good grade though, so he swallows the lump in his throat and tries to ignore the way Lance's perfume invades his senses and the glint in his eyes while he scans the page.

And then he's gone, moving to sit back down on his chair and smiling. If Nicholas wasn't sitting down as well, he's sure it would make his knees go weak. Lance starts talking about his text and Nicholas is sure that it's helpful advice but he's still struck by the close encounter, the world around him feeling blurry and out of focus like Lance is miles away as he talks about the style of the text. So Nicholas nods along and looks back down at what he's written with a frown as if he's actively thinking about it, while his mind is still stuck on the strand of dark hair that has draped itself over Lance's eye.

“Yeah, makes sense,” he mutters when Lance stops talking and looks at him expectantly, probably waiting for an answer, and receives another smile in return. Merde.

* * *

**[00:03]**

**hrhp-mev:** I'm so scared of tomorrow

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm sure you will do amazing!

 **headfullofscreams:** Go to sleep now so you'll be well-rested and then you'll go out there and slay

 **hrhp-mev:** Don't use that word, you sound like a high school girl

 **headfullofscreams:** You're into that, admit it

 **hrhp-mev:** Fuck no, good night

 **headfullofscreams:** Sleep well honey

* * *

“Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else who's blessing us with their attendance today,” Fabio begins with a cheerful voice as he makes his way down the stairs, Max following him next to Esteban, anxiously holding on to his script. Most of the students are already sitting scattered across the theater, some of them dangling their legs off the stage, the others staring at their phones in the stands.

He drops his own pile of folders and the script on the desks set up for the judges before jumping up on the stage with a wide smile on his face, and Max suddenly understands why they gave Fabio the task of coordinating the entire thing. He might not be the most organized one out of them but he's the most passionate about the project, and Esteban has told Max about all the hard work he's put into previous plays and the drama club, so it seems well deserved. He takes his place at the far end of the table, next to where George will sit once he arrives, and checks his phone one more time, looking at the unread Tumblr notification and smiling involuntarily, before he directs his attention to Fabio to listen to him.

“Thank you all for coming to today's casting for the Hamlet musical. With the help of Rom- Professor Grosjean, George Russell, a fellow student from the drama department, Esteban Ocon from the music department, and Max Verstappen from the language department and writer of the script, I will handpick our actors for the play today. I have a list here,” he holds up said list, waving it slightly, and Max checks whether he has the right list on the table in front of him, “with all names and roles on it. When we call your name, please come to the front and present your text passage on the stage.”

Max fiddles with his fingers under the table, continuously growing more anxious. He still doesn't quite know why he's been invited to judge the performances, as someone who has no idea how the entire thing is going to go and what he has to pay attention to. He honestly doesn't know why he's doing any of this. He glances at his phone again, exhales heavily, and puts it away.

“Professor Kvyat is kind enough to help us with the songs you have prepared, so please say hi to him as well when you come up here,” he adds with a smile that earns him an eye roll from the music professor before he wishes everyone good luck and a lot of fun and leaves the stage again while the people in the theatre applaud him. Max joins in as well before he focuses on the task at hand again, rearranging the lists in front of him and taking out a pencil to take notes.

It's pretty much the same thing with every student after that. They perform a short monologue and then they sing a song, and then everyone applauds and the judges discuss for a minute before it's time for the next student to perform. It's not bland, because there are some really good performances, but Max is nervously checking the text next to him on the table every once in a while, fiddling with his pencil.

“Max Verstappen, auditioning for Fortinbras.”

He flinches when Fabio calls out his name but he gets up and shuffles his lists to get a few more seconds before he has to climb up on that stage. His heart is beating fast in his chest when he finally gets up on the stage and into the bright light. All eyes are on him now, he knows that even though he can't really see the people in the last rows, and his hands feel sweaty by his side.

He takes a deep breath and starts talking, and then he sings and he just knows that he's barely mediocre, but Esteban smiles at him when he bows quickly before leaving the stage with hot ears while the theater applauds. He can't really evaluate his own performance, seeing as he was more or less stuck in a trance from the moment he started the monologue to when he left the stage, so he sits down and tries to ignore the looks from the side, putting the text away and pulling up the list again to draw a smiley face into the blank space behind his name in his column.

He sends a short text to Dan on Tumblr before he focuses on the next candidate, putting his phone out of sight and taking a sip from his water bottle while a girl holds a monologue for Ophelia. She sings pretty well and captures his idea of the character pretty well, so Max makes some notes, scribbles some numbers here and there, and tells the others about his impression during the evaluation, earning an appreciative smile from Fabio.

“Hey Max,” Fabio approaches him when they're wrapping things up after almost another two hours of auditions. He looks up from his backpack, struggling to fit all the binders in there and opting for carrying the script book home in his hands, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his pants before he fully pays attention to Fabio.

“Some of the drama kids and other people involved in the musical will go out to party later tonight and I just thought you might want to join?”

Max isn't really one to attend parties regularly, especially not two weeks in a row, since he has too much work to do to waste half of his Saturday with a hangover on top of an annoying roommate every week. But Fabio is still smiling and maybe it would help him to become a part of the group if he joined them for drinks, so Max shrugs and agrees, waving goodbye when Fabio disappears after telling him that George would send him the details.

* * *

_maxiel swat team_

[17:48]

 **charles:** GUYS

 **charles:** MAX AUDITIONED FOR THE HAMLET MUSICAL

 **george:** no shit, Sherlock

 **lando:** ??? so

 **charles:** do you not know who coordinates dance and music with Lewis and Esteban mate

 **lando:** OMG

 **michael:** no shit, Sherlock

* * *

Daniel doesn't quite know how he ends up at a fast-food restaurant at 2 am on a Saturday. Well, he does, but he's not sure why he agreed to join Esteban when he complained about wanting chicken nuggets on their way home from the club. He's also not sure why he agreed in the first place when Fabio invited him to go out, he's not someone who wastes his evenings in bars and clubs regularly. He doesn't look like the nerd in the corner and sometimes, dancing and letting out his pent up energy is good for his brain, but he's really not into big parties, the anonymity making him feel left out even when he dances with Fabio and clinks glasses with George.

Now he's watching Esteban devour his chicken nuggets while he sits there with his head resting on his hand, exhaustion setting in. The bright light inside the restaurant hurt his eyes at first but he's slowly getting used to it now, even if his eyes still sting ever so slightly. It's probably because he's tired from dancing and yelling for the past hours.

The door opens and a small group of people stumbles in, ordering some food and giggling like immature children, probably drunk just like Esteban. Daniel would argue that he himself is pleasantly buzzed at best.

“Danny!” he hears Charles's familiar voice call out and turns around to properly look at the group that's now approaching his table with their food in hand. Charles smiles dumbly and sits down next to Esteban with George taking the free spot at the head of the table, which inevitably forces the third person to sit down next to Daniel.

“Hi Maxy,” Esteban says behind the chicken nugget he's chewing on and Daniel's heart skips a beat when he turns to smile at Max, who notices and smiles back hesitantly before he opens his own box of chicken nuggets and begins to eat, a bit more civil than George, who's already mostly finished with the first of his four cheeseburgers. Max chews quietly while Charles rambles about something that has happened earlier at the club that is way too boring to laugh about if one is as sober as Daniel.

“Do you want one?” Max asks and gently pushes his nugget box towards Daniel. Sweet and sour sauce, unlike Esteban's disgusting ketchup, it's tempting. So Daniel gives in and thanks him quietly while he fishes a nugget out of the box and dips it into the sauce.

“I haven't had chicken nuggets in a long time,” he admits when he's done chewing. Max smiles again and Daniel's heart aches, he wants to make him smile more often, and it's a completely irrational thought that he tries to erase from his brain, wiping his fingers off on his dark pants.

“You can have another one if you want, I don't mind.”

Their fingers brush together in the box once or twice, nothing that's worth more than a short glance and a shy smile, and Charles laughs and throws a balled-up napkin at Daniel's head, missing by far, even from the short distance. Daniel still dodges the paper and leans closer to Max, who flinches and grabs a hold of Daniel's wrist so he won't knock the nugget box over. They freeze in that position, staring at each other with wide eyes.

But then Max can't hold back his laughter and Daniel's too weak not to get infected by that, so he joins in and knocks his shaking shoulder against Max's, who's still holding on to his arm, and he's not drunk but he feels like it, all giddy and light, and his heart is beating a mile a minute, cheeks hurting when they finally calm down.

George raises a knowing eyebrow while stuffing half of his fourth burger into his mouth and Daniel feels his neck grow hot. Max gets up to buy another box of chicken nuggets to share with him, and Daniel politely declines, feeling bad for making Max pay for his food. He should pay for the second portion after already stealing half of Max's food the first time.

“You can pay next time,” Max says and Daniel feels hot all over again, letting his head hang down for a second before looking back up and into Max's anxious eyes, smiling. He agrees and sits back down while Max leaves to buy more food. Daniel sighs and then he's looking into the expectant and drunk eyes of his friends.

“Stop,” he murmurs, looking over at Max one more time to find him already looking back from here he waits for their chicken nuggets. They exchange yet another smile and Daniel is biting his lip to keep it down when he turns back and pulls out his phone, fingers trembling while he unlocks it and taps through the menu.

* * *

**[02:31]**

**headfullofscreams:** I talked to my crush today

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm pretty sure that it's an actual crush now

 **headfullofscreams:** He's so nice and I really, really like him

 **headfullofscreams:** It's scary how much I like him despite barely knowing him

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm positively fucked, mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro, now i want chicken nuggets.
> 
> thank you for being absolute legends and bearing with me. i appreciate all of your support so much and it's been a great journey so far. i'm rather sure that i won't post before the new year anymore (especially if i stick to the schedule) so thank you all for being the best audience ever this year. 
> 
> stay safe and healthy, and don't forget to hydrate, kids! i'll see you very soon and i wish you all the best until then <3
> 
> i am still alive and posting on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) so you can always come and yell at me there, even and especially if i fall behind schedule again :")


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **michael:** simp
> 
>  **fabio:** simp
> 
>  **esteban:** simp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am weirdly enough still alive, even after falling down a hill a few times in the past two days.
> 
> i wasn't really optimistic about finishing this chapter in time but then the wordcount suddenly almost doubled in one day so yay, here we are! most of this chapter doesn't really make sense but hey, you'd also appreciate a few well-meant words, right? anyway, i might spoil something if i keep rambling so i'll leave you to it now.
> 
> have fun <3

Saturday goes by so slowly that Fabio feels like he has to drag himself through it by 10 am. He's still not quite sober but he's keeping the headache at bay with medicine while he sits in his kitchen, dressed in boxer shorts, a shirt he's not sure whether it's his or Maverick's, sipping his coffee with an obnoxious slurping noise. There's paper strewn all over the desk, the lists his helpers handed in after the auditions, and his notebook is waiting for him to pick out the cast and their understudies.

He sighs and reads through Professor Grosjean's evaluation again, noticing that his handwriting looks neater than Fabio remembers it from his comments under his essays and performance evaluation sheets. He takes another sip of his coffee and lets the warm liquid run down his throat before he picks up his pencil and begins circling in important keynotes, tries to get his tired brain to remember the performances that struck out to him the most.

Fabio smiles when he picks up the light blue sheet with Max's name on top, notes squeezed into the columns next to people's names and roles. There are some questions written on the page that would make Fabio laugh if he wasn't afraid of conjuring another headache with too much unnecessary noise, yet what he notices as he goes over more evaluations is that Max notices a lot of details that no one else mentioned. The way some students managed to hide their nervosity, or how their acting has made him feel a certain type of way. Then he stumbles upon an empty column.

Well, it's not entirely empty. There's a small smiley face drawn into the space, and it's a bit wobbly.

“Do you seriously never stop working?” Maverick asks when he comes into the kitchen, hair still messy and eyes heavy with the lingering exhaustion after just waking up. Fabio smiles at him and receives a smile in return that makes his heart skip a beat. While Maverick rummages around the cupboards to find a clean mug to pour himself some coffee, Fabio turns back and writes down another name on the list, sure that this person deserves a chance and won't disappoint him. Maverick is still making noise and Fabio scrunches his nose when his brain alarms him of his returning pain but he decides to just endure it and gulps down more coffee.

It's weird, how special and surreal this feels even after they've spent so much time together, coexisting in the same space. Fabio thinks he might never get used to that feeling that he gets when he realizes that there's someone else in his dorm, someone he doesn't want to get rid of. There's something so intimate to just existing around one another without the constant need to interact and impress, Fabio can't really put it into words. He's sure Max could.

“Looks good so far,” Maverick comments and puts down his mug next to Fabio's, standing behind him and massaging his boyfriend's shoulders, who hums and leans into the touch, hissing quietly when a knot comes undone. He picks up the paper again and tries to understand what Esteban scribbled into the field.

When he empties his own mug and reaches for Maverick's for another sip of hotter coffee, he's met with protest but his boyfriend lets him be and presses down on his shoulder a little harder as revenge. Fabio squirms and barely avoids spilling coffee on the paper, which makes him laugh involuntarily.

He'd be content just to stop the time and stay in that moment forever, happy and warm, and slightly hungover, doing what he loves with the person he loves the most so casually close to him.

* * *

_maxiel swat team_

[12:04]

 **esteban:** oh btw

 **esteban:** did i mention that max and daniel ate chicken nuggets together yesterday?

 **lando:** they did WHAT

 **george:** i'm surprised esteban remembers that, i thought i was soberer than him

 **lando:** WHY DID NONE OF YOU BOTHER TO INFORM US

 **esteban:** in my defense, i thought charles would've told you by now

 **charles:** don't drag me into this

 **charles:** they did look cute together though i'm not gonna lie guys

 **george:** DANIEL SAID HE'D PAY NEXT TIME BECAUSE MAX PAID FOR HIM

 **michael:** simp

 **fabio:** simp

 **esteban:** simp

 **alex:** you guys have literally no chill

 **lando:** i'm living my best life right now omg

* * *

_the bois™_

[19:38]

 **alex:** i know this is pretty short notice but does someone have time tonight

 **milkman:** depends what for

 **alex:** pierre is having a really shit time and asked me to come over for comfort

 **lancelot:** i can't come but please give him a hug for me :(

 **milkman:** movie night? @alex

 **alex:** good idea yeah

 **sad gay:** i'll bring some movies

 **milkman:** i could bring cake from pitstop?

 **alex:** you two do that, i'm already on my way

* * *

There's not much going on at Pitstop on a Saturday evening that shortly before closing time, so it's quiet when Lando enters, so quiet that the bell he should be used to startles him slightly. A few students are still occupying the tables doing homework, faces illuminated by the artificial light of their laptops and the rather dim light of the café.

Lando makes a beeline for the backroom to clock in but promptly stops when Charles spots him. He's standing behind the counter, wiping down the top and cleaning milk pitchers. He's wearing a brown turtleneck sweater underneath his black apron, which looks ridiculously good paired with his rather messy hair. Lando doesn't have time to think about that and wants to leave it at a short wave but then he realizes that Charles is Pierre's roommate and should probably know about what's going on.

“Did you forget your wallet again?” Charles asks with a smile when Lando comes up to the counter, a playful tone in his voice. Lando shakes his head and keeps his serious expression, which makes Charles frown and put down the pitcher in return, sensing that something is off.

“Pierre is having a bad day so I'm here to get cake before I'm going over for a movie night with the boys,” he explains, fiddling with the open zipper of his jacket absentmindedly.

“Take as much cake as you want, I'll put it on my list.”

“No hey, it's fine,” Lando tries but Charles is looking more worried by the second. Sometimes Lando forgets that Pierre is not just Charles's roommate but also one of his closest friends. He sighs in defeat.

“I'm still clocked in so it's for free anyway. Take some chocolate cake and maybe something with fruits, sometimes Pierre eats an entire pack of strawberries when he's stressed.”

Lando nods and gets a cake box from behind the counter, gently ushering Charles to the side to access the cake that's on display. He's focussing on the food so hard that he almost doesn't feel how fast his heart is beating or how his fingers are trembling with Charles in close proximity, but this isn't about him. He can still be sad about his hopeless crush when Pierre is in a better mood again.

He lists the different kinds of cake for Charles, who writes all of them down with a nod before he hands Lando the box. When he reaches out to take it from his hands, their fingers brush. Charles's fingers are warmer than his own, and he's not letting go yet, staring at Lando with intent. He gulps and stares back, not saying a word.

“I'll be home in an hour, I have to lock up today. Text me if you need anything else.”

Lando croaks out a promise and a thank you and then Charles lets go with a nod and watches him leave with worry written all over his face. Lando feels his eyes on him until he's out of sight.

* * *

“Hey, is he-”

“He's on the couch,” Alex replies and takes a step back to let Max enter. He nods and puts down his tote bag to take off his shoes properly and places them neatly by the door. Pierre isn't mean about it but he doesn't like it when shoes are lying around in his hallway, and today more than ever, Max feels like he should respect that and be extra careful.

He picks up his bag again and follows Alex, hiding his free hand in the pocket of his hoodie. He's never considered himself extremely close to Pierre but they're friends in the broadest sense of the definition and it was Pierre who got him to dance with Daniel, despite being unaware of Max's situation, so it only felt right to come over and help out. He knows how bad it can feel to be alone in that situation.

Pierre is sitting on the couch with his legs angled up in front of him, clutching a yellow pillow to his chest. He's dressed in a grey sweater and dark sweatpants, hair messier than he wears it normally. His eyes are red from crying and Max's heart breaks at the sight. He greets him quietly and carefully before he puts down the bag by the coffee table and sits down next to Pierre, trying to keep a respectful distance without moving too far away from him.

“Hey, it's okay. What happened?” he asks, and Pierre just shrugs, plucking at the corner of the pillow.

Max isn't good at comforting people. He doesn't know how to act when someone cries around him or opens up to him about personal issues. Even when his sister got upset when they were younger, all Max did was hug her and hold her until she stopped crying. He can't do that with Pierre though because he's not crying anymore at the moment, just quietly sniffling next to him, and frankly, Pierre is just a friend and he doesn't know if he's okay with being hugged or specifically with being hugged by Max.

“Thank you for coming over,” Pierre says instead of answering his question but Max isn't mad about it, appreciates that Pierre is talking to him in the first place. He smiles softly when his friend looks up at him for the first time and shuffles a bit closer, still unsure but determined to help somehow.

They settle for The Mighty Ducks, mainly because Max is the only one out of them who knows the movie, and huddle up on the couch. Lando arrives a few minutes after the movie has started and sits down at the other side of Pierre, mumbling something about having brought strawberry cake. They watch as the story unfolds on the screen, under shared blankets with a pack of chips that they pass back and forth while Gordon Bombay leads his chaotic ice hockey team to the win, and Max bites his lip to suppress a smile when Pierre leans his head against his shoulder halfway through the movie.

Charles gets back home when the credits of the movie are rolling and Pierre is digging into a piece of the strawberry cake. He nods at Max when their eyes meet, and disappears into his room down the hallway, only to return dressed in a school-branded sweatshirt and black sweatpants about ten minutes later, plopping down on the couch next to Lando. It is quiet for a while until he dares to repeat Max's earlier question. Pierre puts down the cake on the coffee table, swallows, and takes a deep breath.

“Is it because of Marcus?”

“No, yeah, it's … I don't know,” he replies and looks down to where he is nervously fiddling with his fingers in his lap. Max carefully puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it to encourage him, even if he still has no idea whether that will help or only serve to make things worse.

“I saw them together at the supermarket today. They didn't notice me and I wasn't really keen on talking to them anyway, but … I don't know. Looking at the two of them together just made me so sad. I know I should be happy for Antonio because he's my best friend, no offense Charles, but I just can't. I can't look at the way Marcus wraps his arm around him and how they laugh together even if they're just buying fucking ravioli in a can or whatever,” Pierre rants.

“And I should be happy for Antonio and talk to him about their relationship and tell him how cute they are together but I can't, I just can't be happy for them and I feel horrible for that. Marcus hasn't hurt me intentionally, he's a nice guy and both he and Antonio deserve to be happy, and if they're happy together, I should be happy for them. Yet I'm sitting here, losing my mind and crying about a boy I can't have instead of appreciating the fact that he is happy without me.”

“It's okay to feel that way,” Max replies, and he's just as surprised as everyone else to hear himself speak. “You can't control your feelings, neither the love you feel nor the jealousy, and that's okay because no one can. It hurts when the feelings are not mutual, I know that all too well, but you don't have to feel bad for being jealous. You're not mad at Marcus or trying to put yourself between them or anything, and I really admire you for that.”

“My point is,” he continues after taking a deep breath, “you're genuinely one of the kindest and most sincere I have ever met, and you deserve happiness just as much as they do. But you also deserve to feel hurt and jealous and sad without invalidating those feelings. You will find happiness one day too, with someone else or on your own, but it can be hard to hang in there. I know we're not super close but I'm proud of you for getting this far.”

Pierre is just staring at him when he's done with tears glinting in his eyes, and Max's heart is beating so hard that he can feel it in his throat. His fingers have gotten oddly sweaty and he has no idea whether what he just said even remotely made sense.

“Thank you, Max,” he whispers after another minute of uncertainty, and then he wraps his arms around Max's neck and Max smiles shakily and awkwardly wraps one arm around Pierre's back.

Maybe it really is enough to just hold people until they feel better every once in a while.

* * *

**[11:05]**

**hrhp-mev:** Sorry for the late reply, I had an emergency yesterday

 **headfullofscreams:** Are you okay?

 **hrhp-mev:** Yeah, some friend of mine was lovesick and need a bit of cheering up so we had a movie night together

 **headfullofscreams:** Are they okay then?

 **hrhp-mev:** Not okay maybe but better than last night at least

 **hrhp-mev:** I said some stuff that made no sense but he appreciated it

 **headfullofscreams:** That's good

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm sure it made sense, you say a lot of smart things

 **hrhp-mev:** Not when it comes to feelings

 **headfullofscreams:** Especially when it comes to feelings

 **headfullofscreams:** I've read your poems, remember?

 **hrhp-mev:** I can write about it but I'm horrible at putting them into words verbally

 **headfullofscreams:** That's okay though, I'm sure he's thankful that you said something even if it sucked, he probably knows what you were trying to tell him

 **hrhp-mev:** Yeah, maybe

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm not going to give in, honey

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm your biggest fan after all

 **hrhp-mev:** And the only one

 **headfullofscreams:** I'm pretty sure that's not true

 **headfullofscreams:** And I know you're too stubborn to agree with me but I won't change my mind

 **headfullofscreams:** You're amazing, I have no idea how people could not admire you

 **hrhp-mev:** Thank you for saying that, really

 **headfullofscreams:** You probably didn't want to head that but to quote Lizzo, truth hurts, baby

 **hrhp-mev:** I'm pretty sure she wasn't the first one to say that

 **headfullofscreams:** Shut up and appreciate my love

 **hrhp-mev:** I do, don't worry about that

* * *

There's already a group of people gathered around the bulletin board in the hallway, so Charles walks a bit faster to sneak his way to the front. He's not particularly worried about getting a role, he's participated in all plays of the previous years since his arrival at the university, so it wouldn't hurt too bad if he didn't get the role he wanted.

When he finally stands in front of the lists, his heart is beating like crazy nevertheless, and he nervously searches for his name. He doesn't have to search for long when his eyes find it right next to the role he auditioned for, and he's the first one behind the role as well. He smiles and bites his lip to keep down an enthusiastic shout and instead hurries away and out of the building, right down the familiar path he takes almost daily.

It's rather quiet in the café for a Monday and Lando is cleaning one of the tables when Charles opens the door loudly and walks in. He looks up when he hears the bell ring and Charles can see a smile spread on his face when he recognizes his coworker. He finishes the table, throws the rag over the counter and right into the sink, and hastily wipes his hands off on his apron before he directs his attention to Charles, who's standing right in front of him now.

“I'm the first cast for Hamlet,” he says instead of a normal greeting, and saying it out loud feels so surreal that Charles feels like he might have to repeat it. He's never played a leading role, so getting cast as Hamlet is something he didn't dare to even believe in.

“I know you could do it,” Lando says and takes another step forward, right into Charles's personal space, wrapping his arms around his shoulders tightly. Charles knows it should feel gross, pretty sure that Lando spilled at least three beverages on his apron up until now, but he doesn't have it in him to complain or step back and squirm.

Instead, he hugs back, arms around Lando's waist and squeezing him tightly, and laughter bubbles in his chest. Lando is smiling at him but still doesn't let go, so they just stand in the middle of Pitstop with enough people there to watch him, being happy in their own little world like no one can actually see them.

Charles doesn't know how it happens, but one second they're smiling at each other like dumb idiots, and the next he's kissing Lando like he's been wanting to do for so long. Lando doesn't pull away, just moves his hands up to rest them on Charles's cheeks, and Charles can feel his smile against his own lips.

His alarm is an unwelcomed intrusion.

Charles rolls over in bed, groans at the blaring noise, and reaches out to grab his phone from the nightstand to turn off his alarm. He hits the snooze button at least and drops back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling with a heavy sigh leaving his lips. Charles lets himself think about his pathetic dream one more time, rubs his face to get his brain working, and then wonders why he dreamt about auditioning to play Hamlet. He doesn't even want to play Hamlet.

Pierre is already sitting in the kitchen when Charles finally emerges from the bedroom, sipping his cappuccino while apparently revising something for a quiz. Charles grumbles a greeting and pours the leftover coffee into the last clean mug they possess. He cuts up a bagel and puts it in the toaster, yawning while he leans against the counter and waits for it to warm up. Mondays really aren't his favorite days at all.

His lecture goes by slowly, so slow that he almost falls asleep twice, and his notes don't even fill half a page when the professor dismisses the class for the day. He turns off his laptop and shoves it into his backpack, checking his phone to see whether he has time to check the casting results before his shifts at the café starts. Charles greets Lewis in the hallway and takes the shortcut for the theatre building.

He greets another three people on his way and holds the door open for a girl he's never seen, and then he joins the small group of people in front of the bulletin board. Some of them are talking about their roles excitedly, while some of them are not as happy, being left with an understudy role. Charles doesn't really worry about that just yet and takes another step forward to look for his own name.

“And, did you get your role?” Max asks to start their conversation instead of greeting Charles like a normal person, and his random and sudden appearance right next to Charles makes him jump in surprise. Max doesn't even look at him, probably looking for his own name on the list, and Charles can't help but notice the slight worry on his face as if he's scared that he didn't make it. Sure, Max wasn't the best actor Charles has ever seen but he's also never taken an acting class in life, so he did do pretty decent.

Charles considers telling him but doubts that it would actually lift Max's spirits. It's too late anyway because Max's shoulders slump, and Charles has to come up with words of comfort quickly to cheer him back up. Judging by his posture, it didn't go quite as planned. He turns away to look at Charles and gives him a soft smile, which confuses the other student even more.

“Congrats,” he says and pats Charles's shoulder awkwardly, “I'll see you at rehearsal on Friday.”

And with that, Max disappears in the crowd of students again and leaves Charles to fight for his own. When he turns back, he finds his own name to be the first one right behind his desired role, and Max's name a little bit further down the list.

First cast.

* * *

**[15:01]**

**hrhp-mev:** I got the role!!

 **headfullofscreams:** Congratulations <3

 **hrhp-mev:** And first cast too, so I'll actually have to get on stage if I don't get sick

 **headfullofscreams:** Damn, that's a lot of responsibility

 **hrhp-mev:** It's just a small role, it's not that big of a deal

 **headfullofscreams:** It is! It's your role, of course it's a big deal

 **hrhp-mev:** I mean I am happy about it, it's just nowhere near the leading roles, you know?

 **headfullofscreams:** That's fine though, I'm still proud of you

 **hrhp-mev:** I can't remember the last time someone said that to me, honestly

 **headfullofscreams:** I can say it again if you want

 **headfullofscreams:** It's true after all

 **headfullofscreams:** You're doing great and I'm proud of you, okay?

 **hrhp-mev:** Okay okay, shut up before you make me cry

 **headfullofscreams:** That's what my ex said

 **hrhp-mev:** Right in the feels mate

 **headfullofscreams:** We don't do half-assed emotions here honey

* * *

Daniel drops another book on his bed and sighs. He's not unproductive, not really, but he should be doing school work instead of suddenly cleaning up his room, which is also definitely something he should do, just not when he has a deadline for an assignment that could potentially fuck over his entire grade. He's well aware of his tactic of avoidance but he figures that he's at least doing something useful while his brain goes on strike and makes thinking difficult.

Cleaning doesn't require as many brain cells, so Daniel drops all the stuff from his desk on his bed and gets an old washcloth to wipe down the dusty wood before rearranging things. His laptop is the first thing to find its usual spot right in the middle of his desk. He piles his most important books in the corner and puts his hole puncher and a container with sticky notes and other random office equipment on top of it to maximize his use of space, which probably only makes sense in his head.

He throws out old paper and files he hasn't touched in months, and slowly but surely the space clears up and his drawers stop making finding the right folders a challenge Daniel rarely has the energy to put up with. It's a bit like decluttering his brain as well, which is normally all over the place, with everything suddenly in a place where he's guaranteed to find it. His journal on the same pile as his music notebooks he carries around everywhere, all music history sheets in the same binder right next to his composition folders in the drawer, the Italian book next to the nutrition booklets. That, admittedly, doesn't make quite as much sense but Daniel has a system in mind that at least helps him to make sense of things, and that's all that counts.

Michael comes in right when he's rearranging the bottom of his wardrobe, and he looks down at Daniel, who sits in a pile of reusable bags and shoes on the floor. Daniel looks back at him for five seconds before the silent conversation is over and tries to find the second shoe of his pair of sunflower vans to put them to the other sneakers.

“Just finish that stupid essay, Daniel. It won't kill you and I know you understood the topic, so stop being a wimp and get your work done.”

Daniel threatens to throw his gym back, including his sweaty clothes that he should definitely wash, at Michael, who backs down with a sigh and leaves Daniel alone to deal with his misery. He slumps on the floor, looks up at his, now clean, desk where his laptop is waiting for him to continue working with the file still opened. He rubs his face and gets back up, taking one step before he lets himself fall on his desk chair.

Michael's right, he probably won't die.

* * *

“Salut, ça va?”

Nicholas almost jumps out of his chair when Lance's cheery voice appears right next to him but he's not determined to embarrass himself in public, even less so when Charles Leclerc is staring at him with that weird expression on his face from behind the counter. He shakes his head and turns back to smile at Lance, who drapes his jacket over the back of his chair before he sits down and pulls out a notebook.

“Ça va bien, merci,” is all he murmurs in reply, focussing on typing in the right laptop password instead of Lance's messy hair. He sets everything up for their study session while his friend orders a coffee and fiddles with a page of his grammar book.

Lance is chatting with Charles while he's waiting for his coffee, leaning his arm on the counter and laughing at something, probably one of Charles's stupid jokes. Nicholas swears he can see the excited twinkle in his eyes all the way from their table by the window but decides that he shouldn't care about that, swallowing down whatever that ugly feeling clogging his throat is, and finds great interest in the Imparfait tense when Lance looks over to him.

“Look, it's pretty simple because you have the same ending with every verb other than the three irregular ones. And it's only three this time!” Lance tries to cheer him up. He wants it to work but the Gérondif is not really something he wants to discuss when he's drinking coffee with Lance. He sighs and changes what he's written to en dormant.

It's not a date. Not even a study date. Nicholas is well aware of that and yet he can't bring himself to believe that, his stubborn brain sowing hope in places where there shouldn't be any. His heart begs to differ when Lance leans closer and reads what he's written with a frown knitting his eyebrows together.

“En travaillant mieux pour l'école, j'aurais eu de meilleures notes,” he says and stresses the ending like it's a question. It kind of is because Nicholas still has no clue what he's doing but he's determined to get the hang of it as to not embarrass himself in front of Lance.

Something weird in his chest moves when Lance cheers happily at the correct sentence, and Charles calls him pathetic when they leave.

* * *

“Alright kids,” Lewis greets the group when he enters the studio, folder held tightly in his hand. He looks so much busier than he probably actually is – he has the same major as Charles and Daniel rarely ever hears him complaining about the workload anymore.

“It would be great if you could present a more or less final version of your choreography for the spring stage by the end of next week so we can get practicing and working out the issues without getting too much time pressure,” he continues and drops his stuff in the corner, clapping his hands as if to motivate the others.

Daniel leans to the other side and grabs a hold of his foot to stretch his other leg, and Fabio is throwing him a glance that makes him bite his lip to avoid laughing. Sure, it's good that Lewis wants to get everything done ahead of schedule but the spring stage is still a month away.

Maybe that's why he's so much busier than Charles though.

“Dan, do you know what song you want to dance your solo to?”

He swallows and gets up from the floor, shaking out his legs before he walks over to Lewis. He's twirling the hem of his shirt around his finger and bites his lip, and he feels like everyone is looking at him even if no one is paying him any attention, not even Fabio or Michael, who's busy cheering Pierre up.

“No, I actually- I haven't really had an idea for that yet.”

Lewis doesn't look like he is judging him, Daniel knows that look when he smiles like he knows exactly how wrong the other person is. Now he's smiling his nice, understanding smile though, which allows Daniel to relax at least a little bit more under his gaze.

“I swear I'm on it, I promise I'll have it figured out in time.”

“Hey, it's okay. You've never danced a solo here before, I understand it if you're nervous and-”

“I'm not nervous,” Daniel says and instantly feels bad for interrupting his friend, “I just genuinely haven't had that strike of creativity yet.”

Michael doesn't ask and simply hands him the broomstick so they can practice together, and his thighs burn, sweat on his forehead, it feels good just to move and turn off his brain for a bit. He knows Lewis isn't urging him in any way and he won't get mad if Daniel needs a bit longer to put the choreography together but he still feels guilty like he should try harder. He dips down the broom and strokes his hand down the warm wooden material when he's pulled it back up, and he knows Michael is doing the same thing next to him.

He can see Michael in the mirror, he can see himself, well he could. Instead, he stares at his reflection while his eyes unfocus, and he doesn't need to see himself to know what he's doing. It's like a trance while in full focus, it's strange but it works, and he can hear his blood rushing through his body when the noise echoes in his ears.

Nyck is clapping when they're finished with their rundown, and Charles smiles and throws Daniel's water bottle his way. The liquid feels like ice in his burning throat, and he's still breathing hard when Lewis praises them, and his laughter is lacking air when Fabio makes a dry comment on the broomstick-grinding.

He spends an extra ten minutes stretching after everyone else has left the studio and now he finally looks at his reflection properly, staring back at himself. He looks exhausted, not only from dancing, and spreads his legs some more to feel the burn when he leans his upper body forward. When he comes back up and finds his own eyes again, he feels like he's ten years old again and alone in his bedroom, sharing uncoordinated moves with the dust on his wardrobe and no one else.

Daniel has since learned what to do with his limbs and how to make his movements look more energetic and confident. Maybe becoming confident was a good step in the right direction for achieving that. Maybe telling himself that he's confident was already enough, and there aren't any bruises on his back from doing backspins wrong anymore.

He's grown out of a lot of stuff but there's always that obstacle in his head that tells him that what he's doing is absolutely nuts. It's always been there, when he couldn't move his shoulder for a week when he failed his first flick-flack, when he was too scared to just remove one hand from the floor and shift his weight a bit. He knows how to do one-armed handstands now but the voice is still there. It might never leave but he's looking at someone in the mirror who appears to deal with that just fine, a silent image of what could be.

It's still warm outside when the door closes behind him. He holds on to the strap of his backpack and jumps down the stairs, leftover energy forcing him to move. There are only a few people crossing the campus at the moment so Daniel pays the other students no mind and turns the volume of his music up a bit higher. The sun is still up and shining right in his face, and Daniel has a weird obsession with keeping his eyes wide over when the sun blinds him like that, like he's used to it, like it doesn't hurt him, a beautiful feeling.

Daniel only stops when someone taps his shoulders, and he quickly takes off his headphones. Max is smiling at him, greeting him with a small wave. His shoulder still feels weirdly warm where he has touched it. Daniel can't help but smile back, and he says hi but they're both headed in different directions, so there's not much more than a short question about how he's doing and a laugh, and then Max is already gone again, and Daniel needs a second to breathe again, turning to look after the other student and catching his eyes when he also turns back one more time.

He bites his lip to refrain from smiling too hard, and his steps feel a bit lighter when he keeps walking home. When he puts his headphones on, an idea strikes him, and Daniel hurries to get home before he forgets about it, to hold on to that thought, hoping that it works out and pleases Lewis, and he feels like this could be something he'll be proud of when he presents it to an audience. _That's what art is all about_ , Charles says every time someone criticizes his work, _looking at what you have created and feeling proud of it_.

Daniel's heart is still beating unreasonably hard when he unlocks the door to his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actual progress in the plotline? we don't know her in this household.
> 
> i still hope you enjoyed it, even if we're still mostly stuck in the same position. the next chapter might be a bit more ... interesting, so to speak, and i'm really trying to update here next weekend - it might get difficult, seeing as i still have online school but advanced courses in person beginning tomorrow, but i'm determined to finally get somewhere with this fic before the slow-burn kills us all.
> 
> thank you for your never-ending patience and kindness, i'm very glad that people can enjoy this fic despite all the delays. i really appreciate every single comment, kudo, and every reader in general, thank you for enabling me to keep going - i couldn't find enough motivation without all of you.
> 
> i sometimes release a ton of unwanted posts and fic updates on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd), so if you want to be of the lucky ones, come join me :)
> 
> see you soon <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **esteban:** i feel like a side character in a netflix show, to be honest
> 
>  **charles:** it's their world, we're just living in it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i _really _wanted to post last weekend but unfortunately, i got sick and had to spend the majority of it in bed. thank you, as always, for your patience!__
> 
> i've said it before on tumblr, but i'm actually very excited about the ending of this chapter - it was so much fun to write, and it finally gets something going. there are also some new characters to introduce, which is also really exciting.  
>    
> i'll stop talking now before i actually spoil something, have fun with this chapter :)  
> 

**nyck [14:39]:** is our plan still standing?

 **prince max [14:42]:** of course!

 **prince max [14:42]:** 4 pm at studio B07?

 **nyck [14:45]:** exactly

 **nyck [14:45]:** some of the others might be there too if that's okay?

 **prince max [14:47]:** i'm already used to embarrassing myself, it's fine

 **nyck [14:48]:** alright, i'll see you in an hour!

* * *

“Let's try that again, on the beat this time,” Antonio suggests, looking at Robin but not calling him out for being the one to trail behind. Daniel nods and spins his drumstick around, which isn't exactly easy when he's trying to focus at the same time, intently staring at his high tom. He's the one in charge of the beat, he doubts Antonio will have anything to criticize about that, not at the moment, anyway.

They play the song again and then restart another time, and Daniel sighs and drops his sticks while Antonio points out another thing. Robin slumps behind his guitar and nods along, Daniel is sure that he's not actually listening, and he frowns when Antonio turns around to address him next. He tells Daniel what to fix about the rhythm, some lecture about playing the fourth note louder than the others, and something about that is clearly off. He's not in a mood to make Antonio angry though, he knows all too well to accept the more or less pointless criticism instead of the snappy remarks and annoyance.

Charlotte's eyes meet his when Antonio turns back to his keyboard to adjust the microphone that's already the ideal height for him, and Daniel shrugs and gestures with his hands to make clear that he knows as little about what's going on with their front singer as the other band members. He could say something or end practice for the day to keep things effective. Instead, he picks the drumsticks back up and counts them in, and when it's his time to shine for a few seconds to harmonize, he leans closer to his microphone, and everything feels pretty normal when they play.

“Did something happen?” Robin asks when they're done with practice, waiting until Antonio has muttered a goodbye and escaped the room while the rest of them was still busy cleaning up.

“Probably personal stuff or he failed a test,” Charlotte suggests and keeps wrapping the cable around her arm, putting it into the bag of her bass guitar when she's done. Daniel hums and moves the drums to stand closer together before he stuffs his drumsticks into the side pocket of his gym bag.

“He was right about Robin being too slow though,” he says and barely avoids the pencil Robin throws his way, ducking down and giggling. He picks the pencil back up and hands it to its rightful owner, and Charlotte sighs, blows a loose strand of hair out of her face, and zips up the bag, carefully placing her sheet music into a folder before putting it away. Maybe Daniel should consider playing from music once in a while again, that would save him from Antonio correcting him, at least.

“I'll see Pierre in a minute, maybe he knows,” Daniel finishes the conversation and is met with hums of agreement. He hugs Charlotte goodbye and waves at Robin from where he's standing, Daniel has learned to keep a one-foot distance at all times the hard way, and then he locks the studio door and makes his way downstairs to get to training on time. The last time he ran late, he got punished with an extra ten minutes of warmup with Michael, he doesn't know how Fabio always gets away with it.

* * *

Max kind of knows what to expect from what Lando has told him. Sadly, that doesn't prevent his hands from getting sweatier with every step he takes towards the room. It's hard to miss with the loud music and a loud voice that Max is pretty sure he's heard before fighting against it. He holds on to his backpack a little tighter and pulls the door open, taking a careful look before he enters, closing the door behind him quietly.

The room is surprisingly light, with all windows pulled open in the spring sun, and Nyck is sitting underneath one of them with a bottle of water in hand and sweat on his forehead. He looks exhausted in his black shirt and basketball shorts, legs spread while he watches the others dance. Lewis Hamilton is the one the voice belongs to, Max notices, and makes his way over to Nyck, staying as close to the walls as he possibly can.

“Hey,” he says before he sits down next to his friend, dropping his bag next to him on the floor. He'd whisper but the music is loud enough to drown his voice out, and Nyck turns to look at him and smiles, replying with an equally short greeting. They both turn back to watch Pierre and Charles dancing together.

Dancing has never been Max's thing, he's never been good at coordinating his arms and legs and making them do what he wants them to, and he's too stiff and awkward to dance the way the guys he's surrounded by do. Charles looks so much more at ease, although what he's doing is quite exhausting, judging by Nyck's appearance.

Pierre looks a lot more serious but nonetheless focussed, and Max is amazed by how he moves. He never would've suspected for him to dance ballet or anything in that direction, but he's doing just that, spinning around the room in a way that makes Max feel dizzy just from watching. Charles catches up with him in synch with the music, reaching out for his partner and holding him, and it's fascinating to watch, even if it's just training.

“Shoulders back, Pierre,” Lewis comments from the side. He sees things Max can't even make out now that he knows that something's apparently not entirely correct. To him, what they're doing looks flawless, how they move together without ever getting in each other's ways, without tripping or missing a move, and the song seems to near the final seconds. Pierre smiles when he stops moving, frozen in his pose for another few seconds before he lets his muscles relax.

Both of them are breathing heavily but they look satisfied, happy to be done, and Charles turns around to him and bows with a grin. Max rolls his eyes and suggests a clap with his hands, not denying his roommate's crush the applause he deserves. Lewis eyes them with a serious expression that makes Max feel as if he's done something wrong.

“I'm glad you could make it,” Nyck speaks up when Lewis evaluates the performance with the dancers, and Max smiles at his friend and can't help but feel a bit nervous about what's to come. He's by no means going to make this look as good as Charles and Pierre did or as everyone in the room probably could.

“Early in the beginning, when Pierre moves away from you for the first time,” someone else suddenly says and Max feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“You could try moving back in the other direction a bit like you've been trying to hold him back before he breaks free,” Daniel continues and gets up from his own spot on the floor between Michael and Fabio, walking over to the three other dancers already gathered in the middle of the room. He takes Charles's place and wraps his arms around Pierre, humming the melody while they go through the steps to visualize what he's talking about.

Max has a hard time not staring because the way the muscles in Daniel's arms shift while he moves Pierre around is a bit too distracting for his taste. He swallows and tears his eyes away, pulling out his water bottle to take a sip and swallow down that weird stinging feeling in his chest.

“Yeah, that would add a bit more to the acting,” Charles agrees and tries again himself. Daniel crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches the other dancer with a rather serious expression, paying attention to his every move. Max has never really seen Daniel look this serious. Focussed, yes, when they meet at the gym at night, but never serious in a sense of him judging someone else like this. He starts nodding and locks eyes with Lewis, who seems to agree with his friend, and he claps once to dismiss Pierre and Charles, saying some more nice things and giving more tips, and Nyck stretches next to Max and opens his mouth to say something but hesitates, eyes lighting up like he's made a life-changing discovery just then.

“Wait, is _Daniel_ your gym crush?”

Max snaps out of his thoughts and turns to look at his friend, confused. Nyck looks excited and partially shocked, and Max groans and debates running away. There's no real point in denying it now anyway but he's sure Nyck will never let him live that down.

“Yes, Nyck. Keep it down, will you?”

A grin spreads over Nyck's face, and Max takes that as his sign to sigh and turn back to watch the others dance. It's Nico's turn apparently, and his friend winks at him on his way to the center of the room. Max knows that he dances, it's not any new information, and still, he's never actually seen his friend dance, the image not quite familiar to his eyes. Nico has always been confident and loud if he wanted to be, so Max doesn't doubt his skill but it still feels like it doesn't quite fit.

That feeling fades away when he watches the other student dance though, all smooth steps and moves, flowing without disruption like a river. He looks happy doing it, too, even when he focuses on not messing up. It's mesmerizing to watch, just like watching Charles and Pierre earlier, who are stretching together in a corner while talking quietly to each other now. Lewis is watching Nico, nodding here and there, and frowning at some steps, and Max can't see what he sees but doesn't really care to, as long as he can keep watching and admiring.

Nico is the last to perform for the day, so Lewis wraps things up when he's done dancing, dismissing everyone before he starts stretching as well. Pierre and Charles are already on their way out, waving at the others before they disappear, and Fabio and Nico are joking around with each other. Nyck stands up from his spot on the floor and shakes his legs a little, bopping up and down on his feet to warm up again, so Max drops his bottle and gets up as well, letting Nyck explain to him what to do now.

Lewis is the next to leave, followed by Michael, and Nico and Fabio are still arguing, so Max pays no attention to them and keeps following Nyck's explanations. His legs already feel heavy when they're done warming up, and Fabio jokes about how Max will experience his worst sore muscles ever the other day before he stops bothering them and leaves.

“Alright, I'll teach you some basic steps today and a simple choreography to get started. We'll dance a sequence of Geronimo and I promise it won't kill you.”

“Hey Dan, you know that choreo, right?” he asks the other student, sending a shit-eating grin Max's way before he turns to face his friend. He's currently picking up his bag but slowly puts it back down when Nyck looks at him, looking confused about what's to come now.

“Would you mind joining me to show Max how it's supposed to look?”

“I mean, I have an essay to work on but I'm sure I can take some time for you two,” he replies and puts his stuff back down for good, telling Nico to leave without him before he joins Nyck and Max, greeting the latter quietly and smiling briefly before he pulls out his phone to connect it to the Bluetooth speaker to select the song.

Max knows the song, of course, and tries memorizing at least some of the steps for when he's supposed to learn them. The refrain is fast and upbeat, and there's so much jumping that Max has a hard time following. He knows that it looks nice though, and Daniel is smiling brightly while he dances. Something tugs on Max's heartstrings and he wants, to dance with Daniel, to smile with him, and feel that kind of freedom that the song normally evokes inside him.

“Okay Maxy, it's your turn now,” he says with a smile when they're done, and he briefly puts his hand on Max's shoulder. He's so warm that he leaves a cool spot behind when his hand disappears, and Max knows he should say something, anything really, so he won't look like a total idiot. He doesn't know what to do though and helplessly watches Daniel get ready to leave for the second time.

“Can you stay with us?” he asks when Daniel has almost reached the door, and the other student turns around, scans Max with an unreadable expression before his features soften into a smile, and for the second time that day, he stays.

* * *

_ maxiel swat team _

[17:48]

 **michael:** they're both so goddamn stupid it's hilarious

 **charles:** omg i know

 **charles:** both of them together in a room for more than ten minutes is the funniest shit

 **michael:** did nyck tell you about everything yet?

 **charles:** depends on what everything is

 **michael:** dan helped him to teach max the choreo

 **lando:** WHAT

 **lando:** HOW DID I MISS THAT

 **charles:** uhhhhh reason #1: you don't dance??

 **lando:** nyck is such a traitor :(

 **esteban:** i feel like a side character in a netflix show, to be honest

 **charles:** it's their world, we're just living in it

 **fabio:** nyck apparently didn't even know about the maxiel thing that just makes it even better

 **lando:** the king of wingmen

 **michael:** today is a historic day kids

 **michael:** i swear i've never seen daniel so distracted during practice

 **fabio:** simp

 **alex:** not that again

* * *

Lando wants to ask. He really does, but he fears that Max might hurt him if he talks to him without a warning. Then again, his roommate has been staring at his laptop in the same way as last night, with his brows furrowed and his head held up between his hands. His undereye bags look worse, and he's clearly tired, and Lando is slowly getting concerned about the possibility of him staying up all night.

Instead of directly addressing the issue, Lando mutters a good morning and makes coffee for them. Max is wearing a different hoodie than the day prior, he notices when he takes his cereal bowl from the shelf, so he must have at least gotten ready, even if he might not have slept. He opens the drawer and takes out his chocolate crisps, makes a mental note to buy new ones soon, and fills them into his bowl before topping it off with milk. Lando pours some of it into a pot to heat it up for his coffee, maybe he should ask his mom for a pitcher for their flat for Christmas.

He puts one of the mugs down in front of Max and sits down across from him with his own mug and his cereal. Max thanks him quietly but without looking up from his laptop, so Lando just nods and starts digging into his rather depressing breakfast. At least the chocolate flavor makes it taste less like he's chewing on carton.

“Alright Max, tell me,” he tries after another ten minutes of silence, in which the noise of his spoon colliding with the bowl has been the only thing audible in the kitchen. Max hasn't typed a single sentence since Lando's arrival, and neither did he write anything last night after dinner. Lando is quite familiar with the sound of Max's laptop keyboard by now, and he hasn't heard any of that in the past twelve hours.

It seems to do something to Max though because he slumps on his chair when Lando tries talking to him, looking as if all his energy is suddenly leaving him. It's like poking a balloon with a needle, Max suddenly looks a lot smaller than he normally does.

“I don't know what to write about.”

Lando feels a lot less concerned about that reveal, it's something that has happened more often than he's able to count. It's not like it's not bad but he can fix that, or at least he's been able to do that in the past. He takes a sip of his coffee first to sort his thoughts before approaching the conversation again.

“What's the task?”

“We're supposed to write at least three pages, type size 12, describing something that we like or that is important to us, and I have no idea what to write about.”

“You could write about Hamlet,” Lando suggests and receives a huff of annoyance in return.

“There are so many things you enjoy, I'm sure you'll find something.”

“I've been trying to find a topic for the past two days but there's nothing. Not a single thing that I enjoy enough to write three pages about at the current moment.”

“Do you remember that guy you once told me about? The one who wrote an entire book about eating cake? If he can do that, I'm sure you'll be able to bullshit three pages about something equally trivial.”

“Yeah,” Max replies, and looks up from his laptop screen and the presumably empty document for the first time, “but I don't like cake that much.”

Lando hums and falls silent again, thinking. He empties his bowl and gets up to put it into the sink to wash later when he returns from his lecture, leaning against the counter as he tries to come up with a solution for Max's problem. Max likes a lot of things, there must be something, anything that he can ramble about long enough for him to write about it.

_That's it._

“Write about Daniel.”

“What? Lando, I don't think that's-”

“You don't have to mention his name, just write about him. I'm tired of your sad pining and you need a topic. Do it.”

Max eyes his thoughtfully, and Lando ignores it in favor of downing the leftover coffee to put the mug next to his bowl. He doesn't say anything more but hopes that the smile he gives Max before he leaves the kitchen is enough encouragement.

When he emerges from the bathroom and hurries to put on his shoes so he won't be late for his class, he can hear the familiar typing noise coming from the kitchen, and can't help another smile that escapes him.

* * *

“Something is wrong with Antonio,” Charles announces after staring at his roommate's best friend for a solid three minutes, without even putting his milk pitcher down first.

He's not wrong. Antonio didn't order his usual latte when he came in, he's not even eating the raspberry cake he normally loves so much. He's been unusually quiet and rather reserved towards Charles, and now he's sitting near the windows, looking outside and watching people pass by while his coffee grows cold on the table. There's clearly something off about the entire thing.

Esteban hums but shrugs and takes a bite of his chocolate muffin, spreading crumbs all over what Charles assumes to be his composition notebook. Sure, he's not best friends with Antonio either but they work together every so often, so he might know more about it, or notice that there's an issue, at least.

“It's weird,” Charlotte replies while Esteban carefully tries removing the remainders of his food from the open page without leaving stains, “he's been rather snappy yesterday during our band rehearsal. He wouldn't stop correcting Robin all the time, and the poor guy just stood there and took it. I mean, Robin probably doesn't care all that much but it was still very out of character.”

Charles frowns at that and finally moves to clean the pitcher, briefly disappearing to get the clean dishes out of the dishwasher. Esteban scribbles around in his notebook until he returns but he doesn't look like he's able to focus now either, not with what Charlotte has told them.

“Maybe something happened with Marcus?”

“I could ask Lance,” Esteban suggests, “he's in urban studies with Marcus, I think.”

“You think?” Charlotte asks, and can't contain a quiet laugh.

“I'm the only one participating in this conversation who doesn't stalk their friends, apparently. They know each other, anyway, it doesn't matter where from.”

“Alright,” Charles interferes before his friends can start bickering again, and prepares an online order, taking the almond milk out of the fridge and dumping ice into a see-through cup, which is biodegradable as well, according to his boss and Lewis, who recognized the brand when they first got the cups. “Esteban? Ask Lance about Marcus. Annoy him, if you have to, though I'm sure you'll do that either way. Charlotte? Keep an eye on Antonio.”

“Why are you suddenly so invested in this?” Esteban wants to know. Charles pours caramel syrup along the rim of the cup after preparing the coffee, and looks at Esteban intently when he's done, expecting him to get the hint. His friend just looks back at him and smiles with confusion written all over his face.

“Because of Pierre, you dimwit,” Charlotte half-whispers, so Charles nods along before he turns back to the coffee and pours it into the cup, followed by the almond milk. He writes something on the cup and puts a lid on it, placing a paper straw on top, and putting it to the side to wait for it to be picked up. He doesn't quite remember when or why they decided to only serve their things to go in biodegradable cups and boxes, but so far he's mostly received positive feedback.

He rubs his eyes and starts cleaning up, he shouldn't think about their eco-friendly methods when they've just discussed something that concerns him more on a private level. Especially because Antonio would inevitably end up seeking out Pierre for help if there was actually something wrong with his relationship, and especially after Pierre's most recent breakdown, that's a thing that should be avoided in Charles's opinion, for their collective well-being.

“Isn't it sad how we care more about their issues than our own?” Esteban asks and lazily watches as Charles hands the drink he's prepared to a girl. He forces himself to smile at her when she hands him the money, and Esteban simply raises an eyebrow and finishes his muffin. Charlotte looks at him with an expression that informs him that they are referring to his issues with Lando, issues that don't exist. He picks up his washcloth to wipe down the working space and tries ignoring his friends and how right they are.

* * *

_thirst club_

[18:11]

 **lewis:** okay kids

 **satan:** uh oh, things are never good when lewis calls us children

 **nichoe:** it was nice knowing you all i guess

 **lewis:** i just wanted to send you all the current list of songs for the spring stage, don't be dramatic

 **lew's favorite:** do you not realize who you're talking to?

 **satan:** rude, i thought we were friends

 **lew's favorite:** nah, you just give me free cake

 **italianhoe:** can you discuss this later and let lewis do his thing istg

 **lewis:** thank you mike

 **lewis:** so for the solos we have nothing yet, other than my performance

 **satan:** the shade lmfao

 **lewis:** the duetts are dan and michael with havana, pierre and charles with achilles come down, and fabio and i with bills

 **lewis:** and the group obviously doesn't have a song yet either

 **quartararhoe:** so all you wanted to do was guilt-trip the solo dancers?

 **nichoe:** probably

 **ricciardhoe:** i might have one but i have to see about the choreo first before i tell you

 **nyck:** yeah, me too

 **nichoe:** nyck out here stealing daniel's excuse

 **satan:** get it girls!

 **lewis:** you're all giving me a headache do you know that?

 **satan:** what an honor

 **italianhoe:** charles stfu

 **ricciardhoe:** charles stfu

 **quartararhoe:** charles stfu

 **satan:** :(

* * *

“The concept should make sense but the way our professor explained it confused me to no end,” Nicholas complains, and keeps walking with his upper body leaning over his shopping cart. George hums and puts two packs of pasta into the tote bag he's carrying.

“Mate, I study stage acting, I can't help you with business school. Believe me, I would if I could.”

“I wouldn't ask you, either way, it's just nice to have someone to talk to about it every once in a while.”

“Yeah, I get that,” George tells him, before stopping in front of the dairy case and scanning it for someone from his grocery list. “Didn't Lance take a business course? Maybe he can help you?”

Nicholas groans and reaches for a pack of almond milk, putting it into the cart before adding another two, while George looks for some kind of yogurt. “I'm not asking him out of all people, I already bother him enough because of French.”

“It's fate,” George says with a shrug and an easy smile, and barely dodges the bag of cheese that Nicholas throws at him. He picks it back up before people can look at them weirdly and puts it into his cart, which he continues pushing around the store right after, not waiting for George to catch up.

He could ask Lance, of course, he could, but Lance only took a basic business course, it's not his major, and as much as he always talks about the similarities between their majors, he probably wouldn't be that big of a help. If he was, that would surely get embarrassing for Nicholas, who should be the one out of the two of them who gets that stuff and explains it to Lance, not the other way around.

It's bad enough that he's on the verge of failing French without his friend's help, and revealing even more of his stupidy certainly won't make Lance like him more or anything stupid like that. Maybe George thinks that their study sessions would help them bond but Nicholas doubts that it's any deeper than Lance helping out a friend for free coffee every once in a while. He sighs and tosses a bag of toast into his shopping cart.

“You worry way too much, mate,” George points out when he's finally caught up. Nicholas rolls his eyes and counts to ten in his head. He won't start crying out of frustration in the middle of the grocery store, and especially not in front of George who would never let him live that down.

“I worry just enough to stay sane, thank you very much.”

“Just talk to him. Not about school or the classes you're failing, just- I don't know, talk.”

He turns around to frown at George, who simply shrugs and puts a bag of chips into his tote bag. It makes Nicholas once again overthink why he's even friends with George. He doesn't quite know, but it's surely not because of his mind-blowingly amazing advice. Nicholas puts his Nutella jar on the conveyor belt, regrets half of his life choices, and appreciates George's attempt at being supportive when he puts one of his Red Bull cans into Nicholas's backpack after they've checked out.

* * *

Thursday goes by slower than Daniel would have anticipated, considering that he only has one class to deal with. He spends his morning working on homework for composition and almost falls asleep on top of his binder twice in the process. It's not the ideal time to be composing chords, a harmony, and a second voice for the melodies he's given. He bullshits most of his interpretations of metres and the accents and eats three bagels before he leaves for his lecture. Some days it's harder to lead a more or less coordinated life than others.

He plops down on the seat next to Michael when he makes it to class, and immediately drops his head on the desk after setting up his laptop and placing a note block on top of the keyboard, groaning quietly about his lack of motivation. Michael, who has basically gone from his morning workout straight to their class, runs on a lot more energy than Daniel and doesn't comment on his roommate's behavior, simply rubbing his back in a slightly comedic manner, until their professor enters the room and forces Daniel to pay attention.

With his head propped up on his hand and his leg steadily bouncing under the desk, Daniel tries to follow the class as their professor goes on about the measurement of physical activity in nutritional epidemiology but his brain doesn't quite cooperate. Next to him, Michael is filling a fourth page of notes on his laptop, while almost simultaneously scribbling stuff down on a notepad. Daniel adds some keywords to the slides on his own laptop for good measure and tries to stretch to ease his back pain without hitting Michael in the face.

They part ways after their lecture, and while Michael has things to do and is actually productive, Daniel drags himself to Pitstop in hopes of getting free coffee from Charles. Lando is a lot easier to manipulate into giving him free drinks, and Charles sometimes gets in a bad mood after world history, so the luck isn't really on his side. It hasn't been for the majority of the day, anyway.

The bell above the door chimes when he walks in, and the queue in front of the order line is of toleratable length, so maybe Daniel does have some luck for once. Charles is working this shift together with André, which is another pleasant surprise. Daniel doesn't even remember the last time he's seen André work behind the counter himself.

“Good morning, what can I get- oh, Daniel,” André's face brightens up when he recognizes his friend, and Daniel can't help but reciprocate the gesture before ordering an iced tea and moving on to the pickup lane. At least André can give him drinks for free as much as he wants, he owns the place, after all. Daniel picks up his glass and moves to occupy the last free spot at the counter, swirling his metal straw through his beverage.

“So how's class?” André asks while preparing a cappuccino, carefully pouring in the milk to create a foam flower on top. Daniel watches and takes a sip of his own drink, the cool liquid serving to wake him up a little more, despite the lack of caffeine.

“The same old stressful limbo, nothing new,” he replies with a shrug. “How's Jev doing with grad school?”

“You know, I thought undergrad classes were bad enough already but I'm scared that he might go insane one day.”

“I wouldn't put it past him, it's definitely within his range of unnecessary dramatic outbursts,” Daniel comments, and fails to contain a chuckle. André smiles and wipes down his working area before cleaning the milk pitcher.

“Charles told me about your spring stage solo, congratulations.”

“It's nothing, really.”

“Maybe I can drag Jev along to watch it, he could definitely need a break from all the work he's doing.”

“We'd be happy to see you there,” he replies with a smile, and truly only speaks for himself. André doesn't have to know, and the others will surely still be happy to see their old friends around. Daniel just doesn't do well with expressing his own emotions sometimes. He takes another sip of his iced tea and decides that he should maybe get some more work done, so he won't feel guilty when he gets home later.

André gets back to actually working, so Daniel moves his drink to the side and pulls out his laptop. He has an unfinished essay for his Italian class sitting in his drafts and another page of composition tasks that he has to go through, and he should really go over his nutrition notes again. Charles places a plate with two cookies on them in front of him with a wink, and Daniel rolls his eyes but smiles at his friend, and opens the essay document.

“Uh- is that seat taken?”

Daniel jumps in his seat when Max appears next to him, looking unsure and slightly anxious in his dark jeans and a white hoodie, and Daniel can barely catch his glass before iced tea spills all over the counter. He's been absorbed in his essay for the past hour, switching between the text, his outline, and the dictionary on his phone, and Max is the last person he would've suspected to show up. His heart is racing in his chest, which he blames on the iced tea accident that he barely avoided, and he forces a smile on his face.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies and moves his laptop a bit further to the side. Max smiles and sits down next to him, fumbling with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“What are you working on?”

“It's an essay for my Italian class. I have to write about a movie I enjoy,” he explains with a shrug, and wonders why he feels so jittery all of a sudden. He hasn't had any coffee that day so far. Charles comes over to take Max's order, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Daniel before he saunters away to prepare the coffee.

“That sounds like an actually interesting topic for an essay for once.”

“It's definitely easier to write about than most given topics. Though it is in Italian, which balances the fun factor out I guess.”

Max laughs at that, and despite all the cold liquid he's consumed over the past hour, Daniel feels uncomfortably warm. He shifts on his stool and looks down at his hands on the table, suddenly very interested in the cuticle of his right thumb.

They fall quiet for a while, though it's not quite uncomfortable, and Max only speaks up to thank Charles for the coffee. Of course, Max gets a free coffee. Daniel can't really blame Charles, he supposes, he would give all the free coffee in the world to Max, so much that even André would fire him at some point.

He sucks at talking to Max though, which is not only a shame but proves to be an issue. Daniel should probably try harder, put more effort into getting to know him now that he's got the chance but he doesn't know what to say, and he feels like someone's choking him with how tight and dry his throat has gotten. His head is wiped empty and his hands are still trembling, and Max is sitting next to him, looking amazing in his white hoodie and actually trying to make conversation while he is turning into a nervous wreck.

Daniel stares at his laptop keyboard for another minute, unsure about how to proceed, but Max is still there when he looks back up, and maybe that's what convinces him. He bites his lip, takes a deep breath, and carefully pushes the plate with the cookies in Max's direction.

“You can have one if you want, or both of them, really. It goes well with your coffee.”

Max blinks at him like he's just said the weirdest thing in the world, looking as if he doesn't believe Daniel's offer. He feels his heart sink, but then Max smiles and takes a cookie, thanking him cheerfully and taking a bite that he downs with some coffee.

“You're right, it does fit pretty well.”

Daniel nods enthusiastically and bites his lip again, this time to contain a smile. He exhaled heavily, relieved thanks to Max's positive reaction, and decides that he should really get back to work, even if that's a tad bit impolite. He hopes that Max will understand though, so he wipes the mousepad to turn the screen of his laptop back on, and resumes writing about his movie of choice. Max quietly munches on his cookie and takes out his phone. It's a comfortable silence and Daniel revels in the feeling for as long as he can. It feels like a dream he never wants to wake up from.

“Alright, I'm done,” he announces after another twenty minutes of burning all his brain cells, saving the document, and turning off the laptop before stretching and letting out a satisfied sigh. Max smiles and takes the second cookie, breaking it in half and handing one piece to Daniel.

“Thank you for the cookies, and congratulations on that essay.”

“Thank you for keeping me company, Maxy,” he replies and feels his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling all the time. He can't keep it down, however, and he's sure he doesn't even want to.

“It was nice to just catch a break, you know? I'll have to go now though, I'm meeting up with Nyck and another friend for lunch.” Max gets up from his stool and slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing his backpack from the floor to sling it across one shoulder. He waves a quick goodbye to Charles and smiles at Daniel one more time before he turns to leave.

Daniel knows that he should say something, anything, to keep Max's attention on himself for just a little bit longer. He should apologize for not paying enough attention to him, he should tell him that he'd like to spend more time with Max when he's not busy with stupid Italian homework, there's a lot he should say.

He shuts his laptop and gets up, dropping his phone on the counter and hurrying after Max. He's almost at the door, so Daniel calls out his name, and watches as Max turns around and looks at him again, thoroughly confused and caught off-guard. Daniel walks over to him and tries to think of something to say, else this would turn really awkward and embarrassing in a second.

“I still owe you dinner.”

“I-,” Max hesitates, still holding on to the doorknob. Daniel feels the anxiety rising in his chest, he knew he shouldn't have done this. “Yeah, I mean, I don't insist on payback but-”

“A friend of mine has a temporary photography exhibition this weekend. We could go there together and grab dinner after if you want to.”

Max smiles and lets go of the door to face Daniel properly. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

“Great! I'll text you later about the details?”

“Yeah- yeah, of course.”

They both nod and neither of them says anything more, and Daniel feels so unreasonably giddy. It's not even a date or anything official but it feels like a success, and he can't keep the smile off his face. Max agrees one more time before he finally escapes the situation to go meet his friends, leaving Daniel to stand in the middle of the café on his own. Charles walks by and gently punches his shoulder, congratulating him for finally getting his shit together.

It might not be a date but Daniel feels like he could conquer the world, like not even Charles could ruin his mood right now. His stomach does something funny and he rubs his face, trying to get his stupid smile off so he can finally pack his own things and go home to scream into his pillow for an hour or two to calm down.

Hell, he's got it so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but what's up with antonio?
> 
> things are finally going forward though, we love to see it! and i'm still very excited about the band and its members, so i'm really hoping that you'll get to love them as well in the long run, maybe when (or _if_ ) antonio calms down again.
> 
> anyway, it's superbowl sunday, so i won't drag this on for too long. since i'm going back to school tomorrow, i dont quite know how fast i can update but i'll try my best, i promise.
> 
> as per usual, thank you for your support and patience, i hope i can pay you back for that appropriately.
> 
> sometimes i post cryptic things about this fic on [tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd), so check it out if you want :)
> 
> i'll see you soon kids <3


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